


you don't know all of me yet

by vivalagay



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Some Humor, jh has daddy issues, major trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 73,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalagay/pseuds/vivalagay
Summary: It only dawns on him during these sort of moments, when Minhyuk is so close that he feels as if they're molding together, when their hands are inexplicably touching, when he can feel the warmth from his body, that Jooheon realizes how immense his admiration is for Minhyuk. It's overwhelming — no, terrifying liking someone this much. Jooheon is scared to ruin it. He's scared of feeling too much and opening himself too much, just for this to be another period of his life that he taints and ends.or, Jooheon is a bad person with bad coping skills, and he doesn’t want the sunny boy in support group to find out.
Relationships: Lee Jooheon & Lee Minhyuk, Lee Jooheon/Lee Minhyuk
Comments: 26
Kudos: 42





	you don't know all of me yet

**Author's Note:**

> TW: this fic includes numbers (such as weight and calories), restricting, fasting, over-exercising, binging, purging (such as self-induced vomiting and exercising,) body dysmorphia, anxiety, mentions of blood, and some mentions of food rituals. if you are sensitive, squeamish, impressionable, or a minor, i do not recommend reading!!!!
> 
> i come bearing another sad fic. this is what i did during lockdown instead of therapy LMFAO. every word came from my two remaining brain cells, so if this fic is incoherent mind your business fjdsjf
> 
> title from "no good girl" by minseo. playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/55xglF2IFq4Y5pkrVE7Sjo?si=7xZ768GXRySTBjUA8jFS0w).

+

"So, Jooheon."

The foldable chair seems to sink Jooheon's body whole. Legs stretched out, head slowly lifting from the top of the stiff backrest. It's not quite the most appropriate look in front of a minister, but he's sure it has long been accepted—and tolerated—that his slouching won't be unlearned anytime soon.

The group turns their eyes towards him now. Jooheon finally hums in response, hands folding over his belly. 

"How did your week go?" the minister routinely asks. "Anything new?"

"Uh," Jooheon starts, naturally, fingers absentmindedly drumming against his tee shirt. He decides to sit up then and pulls up his ankle to rest over his thigh instead.

How did his week go, actually? The days blurred together and left him with unorganized, stagnant memories. What he does know is that he's been back into a routine of waking up early for runs and slipping back through the door two hours later, sweaty and light. Happy, even. He's felt happier than he has in a while.

What he can't say is that finding some sort of control over eating—measuring his food, counting the calories, pushing through sit-ups and crunches with an empty stomach—has found its way back to him, and he thinks it's quite close to being the best thing that's ever happened. It's like reuniting with an old friend, and the thought is absurd— Jooheon won't argue that it isn't—but he feels like himself again.

There is organization in his life, all the planets and the stars have aligned, and on top of that he's dropped two kilograms this week.

(The latter of course being the most important.)

"Uh," Jooheon says again, then a smile quirks at his lips, "nothing really. I think my neighbor saw me naked yesterday, like all butt-cheeks, full ass naked. So, that was pretty hard to deal with. Could probably add it to the list of trauma I'm accumulating."

He only receives a long, unamused stare from the middle-aged man, but a tight smile quickly masks it. "Are you still searching for a job?"

"I've been putting in a few applications," Jooheon tells him. He hasn't for a few weeks, but he doesn't have to tell him that. He has a lot to think about these days; it isn't exactly motivating when even the understaffed food chains won't hire him. 

"Any success?" 

Jooheon drops his leg to the floor, absently leaning back into his chair again. "I thought about what you said last week, about evaluating my talents and figuring out how to use them for good," he says, totally dancing his way from the question, finding the words to make this about something other than his incompetence. "Well, I thought about how I'm pretty good at learning girl group dances. I started to think, maybe I haven't been called in for an interview not because I'm unqualified and have no job experience, but maybe it's because God's plan is for me to debut as the third rapper of Twice."

The room thumps with low laughter from the other few chairs in the circle, and routinely, a frown tugs on the minister's face. Jooheon tries feigning innocence, even as he terribly fights the amused curve of his lips and the pastor, defeated, quickly moves to the next person on the left of him.

This is why he's being obnoxious:

if it isn't obvious, Jooheon does not want to be here.

Every week, he sits in a stuffy room with uncomfortable chairs and horrible lighting, (sometimes not, depending on how many lights decide to work when the switch is flicked on,) and he listens to depressed and furious rants from people he still hasn't really had the chance to know. Jooheon is well aware that he has a problem, possibly even worse than some of the people around him, but it's not like any of them have to know that.

His mother thinks he has anger issues because he's been a little irritable lately, and now she thinks he has depression because he was sitting around and overeating for three weeks. Apparently a deacon with no professional licensure and a receding hairline is supposed to help him with that, but the only thing he really has to offer is bible scriptures and promises that in the afterlife there'll be eternal happiness. Jooheon isn't too sure those are the right words to tell a group of suicidal Christians, but that all goes back to the whole deacon-with-no-professional-licensure thing.

After the meeting, there are snacks and drinks prepared for them. It's not three o'clock yet, so Jooheon can't eat, but it doesn't stop him from eyeing the Mongshell pies assorted on the table, watching as the small group scatters around and crunches on desserts and pre-cut fruits.

"You're going to regret the way you talk to him when you end up in hell," Hyungwon jokes when he suddenly ends up by his side, brown-eyed and thick lips smiling slightly. It's almost summer, though he's engulfed in a wool sweater that thickly bunches around his wrists.

For a second, Jooheon's gaze is still locked on the chocolate hazelnut pies. He peels his eyes away, looks over—well, looks _up,_ mostly—at the single friend he's somehow managed to make here. "You don't even believe in hell," he chokes out a laugh. "Anyway, it might be worth it."

Hyungwon is the only boy he knows with an eating disorder, although his hyung finds any other way to address it besides just simply saying the word. His latest label is 'weird with food,' which is notably an upgrade from 'CEO of Fitness' in Jooheon's opinion.

They only became friends after finding out they go to the same university, which wasn't much of a coincidence hence their university is only one subway stop from the church. Jooheon was just happy to meet someone within his age group. It's not like a lot of people in their twenties are rushing to have a bad counseling session two times a week with an elder and other random strangers in the area. 

"There must be _so_ many people who ask you about your day, then," Hyungwon teases when they step out of the church. 

It's just another joke, yet Jooheon can't help how much it weighs on him at the truth entangled in it. No one worries about him, and the only person who does— _has to_ —, he deliberately annoys every week.

"I'm a bad person," he realizes.

"No," Hyungwon says, quickly. A small chuckle leaves his mouth at Jooheon's dramatic conclusion. "I think you're a good person. You just have bad coping skills."

That surely is a way to put it. "I guess that's better than no coping skills?"

Hyungwon just snorts. 

The subway is too short of a walk from the church. Jooheon usually skips it for a farther station, but he assumes it's okay to not get as many steps in when Hyungwon is with him. The two of them scramble down the long staircase together, and Jooheon pretends to check the time on the Fitbit on his wrist. He watches over his steps instead, as if these won't count unless he's monitoring it.

He only peels his eyes away once they have made it to the bottom of the staircase, and just then notices that Hyungwon's footsteps have already become heavy, his breaths audibly rapid.

"I forgot to grab a water," he heavily exhales, then darts off before Jooheon can utter a response.

Jooheon stares after him. Even as his friend is quickly swallowed up in the oncoming crowd, the top of his head is still visible, bobbing along, until Jooheon pulls his gaze away and hesitantly heads off towards his train.

It should be comforting to have someone like Hyungwon who understands his bad relationship with food, but Jooheon catches himself worrying about him from time to time. It's not like he has as much in common with Hyungwon, anyway. The biggest difference being that Hyungwon actually loses weight, and a lot of it, as if it's an Olympic sport, and Jooheon — well, he doesn't as much.

Sometimes Hyungwon has more color to his skin and doesn't come to meetings clad in two jackets, but it never lasts long before his clothes are looser again and his visits to their support group grow sparse. Jooheon isn't too sure why Hyungwon comes to support group to begin with. He doesn't talk about his eating habits—not that the minister would have any valuable advice, but still—in fact, the times he actually does drag himself in the dingy church basement with eyes just as droopy as his sleeves, he doesn't bother speaking much.

The train doors slide closed just when Jooheon makes it up to the escalator. According to the tracking app, it's going to take a few minutes for the next one to roll in, leaving him with more leisure time than he planned. A small sigh brushes past his lips before he plops onto a bench, watching the train shoot off down the railway without him. Fortunately, Jooheon isn't in a rush. He seems to be the only person lucky enough to not have anything else to do on Mondays.

His foot bounces, trying to find a way to burn off some calories while he idly scrolls through his phone. He checks his steps. Just in case the number will somehow be different from his wristband. It isn't, of course, but he feels at ease somehow. Exhaling, he clicks his phone back to a black screen and waits, hands in his lap, foot still bouncing.

A few weeks ago, Jooheon thought he was done being like this.

Sometimes this obsession comes in waves. It's always just a small thought in his mind, a faint and hushed _what-if_ that itches at his fingers when he takes another spoonful of rice, rushes closer towards him each footstep towards the kitchen at midnight, each second that he stares at himself in the mirror too long, and the thought—obnoxious and hostile—seems to be a little louder than before. A little bigger.

He hadn't sensed it this time. His obsession with weight and nutritional facts gradually dissolved into ordering milk tea at one-hundred percent sweetness as if the thought of heavy liquids in his belly didn't weigh on him like a pile of bricks. It dwindled into rolling out of bed in the early afternoon because he couldn't bring himself to run in the park anymore.

He wasn't counting the chews between his bites anymore, or banishing himself from the kitchen after six o'clock. He was fitting into his clothes tightly (some, a little too tight to even pull over his thighs,) but he ignored it with kkwabaegis and late night runs to the convenience store that always left him feeling worthless and dirty. 

It's not that the thoughts disappeared. Still, his eyes followed every guy that passed on him on the street so he could compare himself, and every other hour of his day was seemingly scheduled for that nagging voice to tease his disappearing collarbones and jawline and round cheeks until his eyes stung with tears and his fingers ripped open another bag of cup ramyun to drown the sadness out. 

Now the wave has crashed. Fairly late, but better than never. He feels sane again. Despite the irony.

He checks his wristband, then checks his phone, then checks his phone again — then he feels as if something is wrong. Usually, this is just him being self-conscious, but he's still compelled to look from the screen of his phone.

He notices a man far off. There's a camera in front of his face, and the long lens looks as if — no, it _is_ pointing directly at him.

Jooheon jumps up, and simultaneously, the lens is yanked down. The stranger scurries off before Jooheon gets a look at the face behind it, camera in hand and this black backpack wildly flapping at his back.

It isn't until later that Hyungwon finally ascends from the escalator, obliviously sipping from a bottled water and unmoving, and Jooheon wastes no time to panickily rush towards him. 

"Hyung," he greets, out of breath, "some creep just took a photo of me."

Hyungwon freezes, and then quickly steps aside to let the group of people behind him brush past. "Of you? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Jooheon exclaims. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, words rushed and panicked as he explains himself. "He had the camera pointed right at me! I looked at him, and he had this surprised face, like he knew he was caught red-handed, before he took off running."

"The fuck?" Hyungwon darts his eyes around, as if the guy will suddenly reappear, this time with his camera fixed on the two of them. "Have you ever seen him before?"

Jooheon tries to think. All he could really make out was a tall, thin figure and dark hair — a description that fits nearly eighty-percent of all the men he has ever seen. "I don't think so," he says.

Hyungwon uneasily scrutinizes their surroundings again. There's just the same flock, and other oblivious and disinterested people pouring from the escalator and staircase. Nothing strange, or out of place. No creepy stranger. "Don't worry about it, I guess," he assures him, gently pats Jooheon's shoulder. "There aren't a lot of things someone could do with a clothed photo. Imagine if it was your neighbor."

Jooheon shivers, jokingly, before the metro jingle chimes. The two of them emerge into the small group accumulating by the railway, laughing and chattering about other things, and the thought of the camera has already slipped from Jooheon's mind.

+

Gasping, Jooheon collapses on the floor. His damp skin nearly clings to the hardwood, electronic playlist still loudly thumping to the beat of the burning pulse in his ears. He exhales, heavily, and struggles forcing his weight onto both arms again, even attempting a pathetically strained scream, before uselessly dropping to the floor again.

"One-hundred one," Jooheon breathes. Sweat slides down his skin, dripping from the tip of his nose, and he knows he could get four more push-ups in if he just breathes. Only _four_ more.

He pushes himself up — _tries._

His arms quiver, face slowly lifting with another choked shout, before he thumps down onto the floor again. For a second, everything feels as if its spinning, and he's terribly frustrated. Mostly with himself. In just a few months his body has forgotten the two-hundred push-ups he could crunch through days on end, and he hates that he's the one who let himself get to this point.

His arms burn with the rest of his body, as if he's engulfed in flames. But it isn't enough. Even if it aches and his head feels like it's squeezing and he thinks he'll throw up —

The front door keypad clicks, four small beeps until it opens. Jooheon listens to the familiar heaviness of the footsteps and, "Hello?"

It's a few seconds before Jooheon reacts. He peels himself from the hardwood, wipes at his forehead and weakly tugs a shirt on that uncomfortably clings to his perspiring skin.

"Hyung?" Jooheon calls.

"Oh. Hey." Hyunwoo suddenly appears in the doorway, but Jooheon sees the familiar plastic bags in his hands first, smells the garlic and spice. His stomach instantly churns. "Were you working out?"

"Kind of," Jooheon replies, distracted. He blinks slowly, and finally zones back in with a smile playing at his lips. "What? Are you worried I'm going to get bigger than you?"

Hyunwoo gently hits his shoulder. "Yeah, right."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Jooheon trails after him into the kitchen, watches uneasily as Hyunwoo assembles the containers and napkins across the table.

"You didn't get my text? Mom told me to drop by. She's not going to be here until late tonight," Hyunwoo explains. He taps one of the containers. "And I didn't forget tripe this time."

Jooheon purses his lips. He's already eaten too many grams of fruits and tofu, and then blended a protein drink he wasn't supposed to eat until later tonight.

Now that there are noodles and meat in front of him, he knows if he doesn't tear his eyes away then he'll probably do something stupid. But he _can't_ look away.

It's right there, and he doesn't know where the nausea he felt a few minutes ago went, but it seems that now all he can feel is the emptiness in his stomach.

Maybe he deserves to eat some of it. Right? Only because Hyunwoo brought it for him. Jooheon has been working hard too and finally losing weight, so maybe eating _one_ take-out meal won't hurt him. He can make up for it tomorrow.

But then it would all be for nothing. If he takes a bite, it would be giving in. Or worse, a binge. Jooheon knows he's not the strongest fighter when it comes to binge urges. Food can't control him again. He can't let it. He _won't._

He has legs. He notices that a little too late, and instantly forces himself to walk away from the table. Thinking is easier when he doesn't look at food. He needs water. He needs to kill the cravings before they can consume him.

Quickly, Jooheon finds his bottle in the cabinet and fills it at the water dispenser. "I'm not hungry," he tells Hyunwoo without turning to look at him.

"You're not?"

"I ate ramyun from the store after class. With my friend. You've tried the carbo fire noodles, right? I think I bought them from you once, or maybe that was for Dad. Anyway, they're really good. It kind of burns your mouth, but the burn is a bit addictive, so you just deal with the pain and can't stop eating it."

Jooheon realizes a little late that he's talking about absolutely nothing. Hyunwoo blinks at him, blankly, then plops into a seat. "Ramyun isn't a meal. Can you bring some bowls and plates?"

"We ate other things too." Jooheon reaches for the dishware in the cabinet. He scurries over to the dishwasher afterwards and fishes out spoons and chopsticks. "We ate a lot, actually. We went to some vendors, then we stopped by a café later on. I've pretty much been eating all day. Now that I think about it, you didn't have to bring food. I could have walked over and picked up my own dinner."

"I just wanted to eat with you," Hyunwoo says, quietly. 

Jooheon stops. His heart drops in his chest.

(He's a bad person. A bad person with bad coping skills.)

The second bowl and plate he sets on the table are visibly smaller than the dishware he hands his brother. Hesitantly, Jooheon lowers into the seat across from him, and he swears when his own gaze meets the opened containers that his eyes shake.

"Well, thanks for the meal," Jooheon mumbles.

Hyunwoo just hums.

It's been a while since the last time he saw his brother. The thought used to cross his mind a lot, how the apartment felt empty when Hyunwoo moved out to be closer to his job, how Jooheon is so busy with his classes these days that there isn't a lot of time to visit him or send text messages beyond a link to one of his song recommendations.

Eventually, Jooheon stopped worrying about it. This is just a part of growing up, right? Something he can't change. It's better to distract himself with the things that he can. 

Hyunwoo fills his plate for him—("Isn't this too small?" he murmurs, faintly,)—and Jooheon still can't bring himself to touch the food there.

Not that his brother notices. He eagerly sits down, digs into the containers around him with unhesitating hands, and it's a little hard for Jooheon not to stare. The joy people find in food is mesmerizing. Hyunwoo stuffs his mouth across from him, hums delighted commentary in between big bites of words that Jooheon can't decipher.

Sometimes, it confuses Jooheon how people can universally withhold so much happiness in it, but he can understand it, in a way. He thinks of coming home from school in his high school days, this smile that routinely spread on his lips whenever he found the food his mother stayed awake preparing for him. He thinks of the first bite of fish bread in the winter, the sweet sips of milk tea, the comfort and fullness of sweet rice cakes and dumplings and fluffy bread rolls when his heart feels heavy and nothing other than feeling full and warm seems to matter, and he gets it — to an extent. 

Jooheon notices the hard muscles in the sleeves of Hyunwoo's shirt, and he wonders why he can't have a body like his _and_ have a healthy relationship with food. Why, for him, does it always have to be one or the other?

He sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. There isn't even a smear of sauce on them.

"You know," Jooheon utters suddenly, because he needs something else to think about other than the food in his plate, "I almost forgot I'm not an only child."

Hyunwoo lightly chuckles. "You mean, _I'm_ not an only child?"

"Drop the act. You obviously miss me," Jooheon teases. "I didn't want to eat with you, and you were over here about to cry."

"Sure," Hyunwoo says, sarcastically, licking sauce from his lips. "If you saw any tears in my eyes, it was from the happiness of being able to eat everything on my own."

Jooheon lets out a laugh. He decides it's safe to pick up his chopsticks and meticulously wraps it in noodles, waits for Hyunwoo to flick his eyes away before he lets them slip into the small bowl again. "By the way, Dad still hasn't figured out how to turn his read receipts off."

The sound of Hyunwoo's laugh is comforting. Jooheon slightly smiles and rows a spoon through the bowl in front of him, letting the heavily seasoned broth rest there before he pours it back out, absently repeats this over and over again like it's a compulsion.

"It's been about a month since he left me on read," Jooheon continues, voice growing quiet. It's not what he really wanted to talk about, but he guesses it wouldn't hurt. Now that they're on the topic. Across the table, Hyunwoo visibly stiffens, though he doesn't say anything, just takes another bite with spacious jaws. "That has to be a new record, right?"

"Almost three months for me."

"Look at you. Such a show-off."

Hyunwoo chuckles again, wordlessly chomps another mouthful.

The spoon in Jooheon's hand still swims. He twirls it, watches the way the meat and chopped vegetables spin around his spoon. "The least he could do is turn off his read receipts, you know?"

"He's not that smart."

"Got that right." Jooheon sighs then, softly, and recoils in his chair. "The last time I called him he hung up on me."

Hyunwoo studies his face for a second. The small smile on his face gradually fades.

"Why do I try, anyway?" Jooheon grumbles to the full bowl in front of him. "The last good thing he did for me was send half of my semester's tuition."

"Pretty good bargain, if you ask me."

Jooheon gives a genuine laugh that rattles through the kitchen, eyes crinkling. He drags his legs into the chair once the sound wanes into another small breath of air pushed from his lips, and curls a fond smile onto his lips. "I love you, hyung."

Hyunwoo just smiles back at him. 

An hour passes before his brother gets ready to leave, and Jooheon tries to ignore how heavy his heart feels. He knows his brother will return to his own life, Jooheon will return to his, and he won't know when time will open for Hyunwoo to see him again. 

"Drop by soon," Jooheon tells him at the door. "Okay?"

Hyunwoo's eyes are innately gentle when he pats Jooheon's head, as if their age difference isn't only two years. "Take care."

Once Jooheon is alone, he plops into the kitchen chair again.

The food is still on the table, now tucked away in the containers and placed back in the take-out bags. He pulls out his phone, absently clicks on his messages, and it takes a while before he can find the thread of texts between him and his dad all the way at the bottom.

It's embarrassing reading through them, seeing how much he cares about someone who chooses when he is and isn't in his life. Jooheon wishes he could adopt the lack of fucks Hyunwoo and his mom have for him, but Jooheon has been cursed as the sensitive one.

He sighs, sets his phone down, and there's a sprouting feeling in his gut that's too familiar.

If he was smart, he'd get up, and he'd leave. He'd lock himself away in his room and force push-ups out of himself until his arms can't hold him anymore, until all of his bad thoughts are distant and all he can feel is the pain of succeeding.

Jooheon scoops the food from one of the take-out containers and pushes it into his mouth, quick, as if it'll jump out from the plastic and take off into the hallway.

The noodles are lukewarm, but Jooheon doesn't bother with the stovetop, or the microwave that he barely touches.

There's a small voice in the back of his head, always there, screaming at him to stop. Reminding him that he's once again ruining everything.

He wants to listen. He swears that he wants to spit the food out, toss it into the trash and return peacefully to the addicting sound of the rumble in his belly, but he doesn't — or, he can't. Sometimes, Jooheon isn't able to tell the difference.

By the end of it, he is surrounded by completely empty containers. They seem to disappear with a blink of an eye. All of the broth completely drained, sides scraped and licked clean. 

Jooheon tries to stand, but a sharp pain in his stomach sends him falling into the chair again. Moving hurts. He's left with only being able to rest his head on the back of the chair and flutter his eyes closed.

Damn it.

Everything was going so well. _He_ was doing so well, and now it was all for nothing. He's once again pushed himself so hard just for it to all come crumbling down, almost inevitably. Jooheon wants the power to write his own story, yet it seems no matter how hard he tries, he always ends up back at the beginning.

He picks up his head, slowly, an ache thumping at his temples and his stomach still hard and swollen. He glances over the horror of the empty containers around him. This can't happen again.

+

(It's two am when he slips out the house and jogs around the park. Legs aching, throat dry and chest burning. He swallows it down, and just runs faster.)

+

A newcomer appears in support group.

His face is soft, a dark fringe half in brown eyes that only fleetingly flops away from his forehead when he runs a hand through it. 

"My name is Lee Minhyuk," he says, shyly. His legs are long and thin. He sits with them crossed and his backed leaned into the chair. "I'm still not sure if this place is meant for me. I don't have a religion, but I hope everyone can welcome me and give, uh, support?"

A few heartbeats of awkward silence passes. Jooheon watches the way the new boy—Minhyuk, apparently—trails his eyes to the floor.

"I'm not trying to find answers. Actually, there isn't anything wrong with me. Not that there's anything wrong with anyone here! I'm sure everyone is lovely... and nice. Anyway, I'm just going through a lot of, I guess, grief with my mom. She's not dead. Yet." His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

Suddenly, the man smiles and looks at each of the faces surrounding him. Jooheon thinks their eyes lock for too long, but then Minhyuk awkwardly straightens his posture and tugs his eyes away, and Jooheon is mostly convinced the stare was just a figment of his imagination.

"Anyway," Minhyuk continues, scratching a hand through his hair, "let's quickly become close. Please take care of me."

He fits in well, despite the whole no-religion thing — something the minister will probably try to change, but no one warns Minhyuk about that yet.

It's embarrassing how much Jooheon likes to look at him. Minhyuk smiles widely with these lips like bubblegum, and speaks animatedly with the other members in their support group, attentively leaning closer whenever someone else talks and moving his hands in the rhythm of his words. And he's skinny, these bony wrists that Jooheon can't let go unnoticed and an angular jawline that's outlined even under the poor light. Jooheon tries not to focus on this too much, but it's not like he can un-see it. 

Their session ends, and everyone easily pours out around the snack table, filling the basement with low chatter and the scrape of chairs shuffled across the floor. Jooheon snags a water bottle before quickly slipping out of the church. Hyungwon isn't here this week. This time Hyungwon actually went out of his way to shoot him a message about it beforehand, leaving Jooheon with a sense of dread as he dragged himself to the church this morning.

_"Hey!"_

There's a voice behind him followed by the quick patter of footsteps. Slowly, Jooheon pauses and turns, meets a semi-blinding bright smile.

"Hey," the man greets again once he's caught up with him. "You're Jooheon. Right?"

Jooheon blinks to the side, suspicious, and hesitantly finds Minhyuk's face again.

(This man's eyes are just like his smile. Up close, he's even prettier, even softer, this feel of a boy next door that contradicts the scent of musky cologne that lingers on him.) 

"Lee Jooheon," Minhyuk adds, beaming. Fingers, long and decorated in two rings, taps one of the straps of a bag on his back. "I'm Minhyuk. But you probably know that, since I said it during support group, but — uh, I wanted to introduce myself, anyway. Personally."

Jooheon awkwardly chuckles, glances fleetingly at the street beside them. A motorcycle zips past and fades into an alleyway. "Nice to meet you, Minhyuk."

"Uh," Minhyuk quickly interludes when Jooheon decides its his cue to leave. Still, Minhyuk's fingers tap at the strap, seemingly pensive, before he quickly sucks in a breath and pulls the back off to unzip one of its small compartments. There is a group of what looks like photographs, and Minhyuk fetches one out between his fingers. "I just wanted to give you this."

It _is_ a photograph, which doesn't quite make any sense.

Jooheon studies him, brows furrowed. He hesitantly takes the photo from his hand. There's a moment he still looks at Minhyuk, wondering if there's anything this man and a photograph is supposed to mean to him, then looks down at his own hand.

It's a shot of the subway, but the crowds are blurred, out of focus, leading to the focal point. And then there's Jooheon. _Actually_ Jooheon _._ In the photo, he sits on a bench with his legs agape, dressed in his usual Monday attire of a large tee shirt and black joggers riding up his ankles, staring stone-faced at the screen of his phone.

"What?" Jooheon sputters, and then he remembers it: the long lens, the widened eyes of a man before he scurried off and disappeared in the subway. That fucking backpack. His eyes skim over the familiar, fake Supreme bag in Minhyuk's hands, and his heart races. He quickly drags his eyes up to the man in horror, trying to find the words, trying to make sense of it. "What? That was _you?_ What the hell?"

"It's not what you think," Minhyuk tells him, quickly, which is usually what people say when it is _exactly_ what he thinks. "Okay, maybe I should have explained before showing you the photo, but I was just doing a school project —"

"You took this without my consent." His blood is boiling. Jooheon tries to slow his thoughts, but they chaotically bounce in his head, confused, angry, furious. He's not an angry person—contrary to what his mom thinks—he's not, but the anger brewing in him almost makes him feel like he can't control it. "Do you know how creepy this is? How many other school projects have you had that include secretly taking photos of strangers?"

"About three," Minhyuk answers after some contemplation. Jooheon instantly grimaces. "No! Like, this is my thing — I mean, not like _that,_ but I'm a photographer. This was just a school project on city life. We do a variety of projects. I just got in a moment, and I snapped a photo without thinking. Honestly, I thought we'd never cross paths again, and I'm really sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted to use this chance to take responsibility."

Every word flies over Jooheon's head. There are too many of his own thoughts inside of it, all of them panicky and infuriated.

"Delete the picture from your camera," Jooheon commands, hoping the anxiety in his chest isn't audible.

"It's deleted," Minhyuk claims, and Jooheon narrows his eyes at this, mistrusting. "It is! I promise!"

A part of Jooheon still doesn't believe it, but he doesn't really have any other choice but to hope he's telling the truth. Jooheon looks down at the photo again, teeth pulling over his lips and discomfort twisting in his gut.

Somehow photos burn more than the harsh realization of looking in a mirror. They feel too real, a peek of what he must look like in the eyes of everyone else who has to pass by him and be around him day to day, thinking of how fat and out of control he is.

In the picture, his shoulders are slouched, the hair pushed to the side of his face hanging in his eye as he curls over the screen of his phone. Jooheon can tell how awful he looks. He can see his round cheeks, chubby and boyish, and he hates it.

The photo squeezes in his fist, and he ignores the way Minhyuk's face falls and his brows wrinkle above his eyes at the sight of it contorting. There are no trash cans nearby, but Jooheon doesn't want to carry this monstrosity with him until he can throw it away in the subway. He lets it fall from his palm as a ball and roll off into the street, before finally stalking off.

"Jooheon-ssi..."

Jooheon quickens his steps, rushes away from the image burned into his mind, of chubby cheeks and thighs enlarging as they spread over the seat. But his mind still finds a way to make him feel bad.

It must've been difficult admitting something that could easily be taken the wrong way, especially to a complete stranger. It was nice of Minhyuk to come clean and give him the photograph, and maybe it was mean to crumble it —

He shakes away the photo and Minhyuk's soft eyes, and checks the steps on his wristband, then checks his phone, then checks his wristband.

+

Sleeping is impossible. Jooheon pulls the pillow from between his knees and rolls onto his back instead.

Rain patters at his window, fan humming softly at his bedside. If it weren't for the weather, it'd be the perfect opportunity to get another run in before his mom wakes up for her part-time job. There seems to be nothing else that can drift him to sleep other than working his legs until exhaustion.

His stomach gives a deep bubbling, grumble. It's probably what's keeping him up. Or the heart burn. Jooheon sits up, slowly, then slips onto the floor for quiet crunches.

Exercising on hardwood floor has easily become one of Jooheon's dumbest habits. It leaves pain shooting through his spine in the morning and an ache in his tailbone that stays for days, but after Hyunwoo moved, he accidentally took both of the yoga mats with him, and unlike how he promised twice, he still hasn't brought one of them back for Jooheon.

The grumbling silences after a while. Jooheon drags a hand through inky hair, yawn falling from his lips, and trails into the hallway. There's a mirror nailed in the wall that only shows him from torso up, and Jooheon takes a few minutes to peruse his reflection. His eyes are droopy, blinking languidly at himself. It's still discomforting looking at his reflection, but he is starting to notice the small differences appearing.

His stomach no longer protrudes awkwardly above the waistband of his pants. The embarrassingly visible bump from his sideview has disappeared through his tee shirt, and his collarbones peeking from the neck of his shirt seem more prominent than they were before, harder under his fingertips.

Still, there's a long way to go. No one has pointed out how much weight he's lost, even if Jooheon sees the numbers drop half a kilo every other day, forcing him to tie the drawstrings on sweats and shorts and pull belts through his jeans. The lack of reaction seems unrewarding, and fairly invalidating. He thinks he's been obvious with assiduously measuring his food, visibly picking at his plate at dinner, sometimes even accidentally leaving the scale at the door of his room, which should be weird.

It's all unintentional—being obvious, that is—yet he still wonders why his mom hasn't mentioned it. Maybe his tactics are really that inconspicuous, or maybe (this thought, he tries pushing to the back of his head,) she did notice and just doesn't care.

By the next week, he gets to the bus stop too late and slips into support group in the middle of prayer. Everyone synchronously gives him a fleeting glance before fluttering their eyes closed again. Minhyuk's eyes were already open, and Jooheon notices the way the man darts them over to him once in a while as Jooheon awkwardly shuffles in to join the circle, out of breath with a folded chair in hand. 

"Sorry for coming in late," Jooheon breathes when the group has finished and he finally plops into his chair. The tarnished metal awkwardly presses into the knobs of his spine. The pain from five reps of sit-ups the night before blooms at his tailbone in a sharp sting that he has to clench his teeth to ignore. "I woke up and forgot my mother said I had mental health problems."

The pastor doesn't seem too happy about his greeting, but still takes the time to acknowledge his presence with a terse nod.

"I can start the discussion for today to make up for it. If that's okay," Jooheon offers. His hands fold over his lap once he's performatively perked up. "Well, I still don't have a job, and have also made no progress in being a positive attribute to society. That's it, I think."

He nonchalantly sits back in his chair and folds his arms for some warmth, waiting for the discussion to continue along the circle.

Some silence passes. The minister nods again, then halfheartedly utters, "Thank you for sharing, Jooheon."

Focusing is difficult. As the discussion continues, Jooheon thinks of what he's going to eat tonight. There's still tofu left in the freezer that he can use in a low-calorie stir fry, or if he's too lazy by then, he can just pop one of the frozen, diet lunchboxes he'd spent way too much money on. They're full of sodium, which kind of fills with a sense of unease, but if he drinks enough water after it, there's a possibility it won't bloat him enough to raise the number on the scale in the morning. 

He's still figuring out whether he'll let himself have lunch or not when their session seems to end out of nowhere. Bit by bit, he returns to the world in almost a state of confusion, darting his eyes around, trying to remember what time it is. Everyone is suddenly scattering apart around him, folding and storing away the chairs.

Well, fuck, did he really just lose a _whole_ hour?

Jooheon shoots up then, disoriented and hazy-eyed, and tries to seem like a normal, healthy person as he helps store the chairs with the group.

Much later, Jooheon lingers by the snack table. It feels awkward and out of place for him, but only a few months ago he was easily one of the people stuffing his face and slipping treats in his pockets to eat on the way to the station.

A chocolate chip cookie is dangling from Minhyuk's mouth when Jooheon approaches him. The man's eyes are on the bottled soda in his hand, carefully filling a small paper cup on the table.

"Hi," Jooheon says, biting at his lips.

Minhyuk freezes. He quickly yanks the half-eaten cookie from his mouth, fumbles a bit with the Fanta bottle cap and a bashful smile that's tugged on his lips. "Jooheon-ssi," he replies, finally. "Hi."

Jooheon gives him a smile, and secretly studies the gingham button-up tucked in Minhyuk's jeans. There's a pool of skin where a few buttons are left undone and a gold necklace dips between his sharp collarbones.

Absently, Jooheon rakes a hand through the back of his own hair, fidgets with the overgrown strands. It doesn't seem as soft as he's used to, but then again, Jooheon knows nothing about hair.

"I wanted to apologize about the other day," Jooheon starts, cutting to the chase. He drops his hand then and touches where his own collarbone peeks from the neck of his shirt. Somehow feeling the shape of the bone through his skin helps him find his words. "It was a bit immature, and I — uh, I hope you don't see me that way? All short-tempered and mean. I'm really not an angry person. Or mean. I hope."

"I didn't think that," Minhyuk assures him. "Taking a photo of you was really creepy."

He chuckles at himself with a slight bow of his head, and bites into the cookie in his hand.

"Thanks for being understanding, though. It may have been for a grade, but photography mean a lot to me," he continues, still fidgeting with the soda bottle left on the table as he speaks with this jubilation that's a bit early for this time in the morning. "I know it's just a hobby, and taking pictures obviously isn't going to get me anywhere, probably, but I love it anyway. It's like finding a way to show the world through my eyes. I know a lot of people can't understand, but just the whole process and getting the perfect shot, it makes me really happy."

Jooheon tries to catch up with him, but his thoughts slow a little. Out of every other city dweller, Jooheon doesn't know how he landed himself as "the perfect shot," but he's distracted when the light visibly fades from Minhyuk's face, and he turns to the small cup on the table to shyly bite at his smile.

"Sorry," Minhyuk stammers, suddenly, a burn of sugary pink stained in his cheeks, "you didn't ask. I'll shut up now."

"No, it's fine," Jooheon quickly tells him. "I was listening."

Minhyuk smiles gently, flicks his eyes up at him with some sort of shyness still there.

Walking with Minhyuk isn't in Jooheon's plan for the day, but as he heads towards the exit, Minhyuk ends up darting out after him into the heat.

"So," Minhyuk says once the two of them are side by side, thumbs sliding into his front pockets, "I realized I know why everyone comes to support group except for you."

"It's called being mysterious," Jooheon tells him, obviously joking. They both wait at the light, watching a single car roll down the street. "People count on me to keep this support group interesting, you know."

"That's a lot of responsibility." And a smile twitches at Minhyuk's lips, eyes squinting against the early sun. "You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business, or anything, but maybe I'll be able to guess?"

Jooheon curiously lifts his brows. "Try me."

"I have some theories."

The light changes. Their footsteps move in sync, hurriedly pattering down the crosswalk.

"I thought, first, maybe you could just be here to find friends, but you get bored easily and you don't seem to have any friends from support group, so that can't be it," Minhyuk tells him, and surprisingly, his words seem fairly organized and thoughtful, as if he's already given his guess some contemplation. "Then, I noticed you slouch a lot, so you're probably sad about something."

"Or maybe I just have bad posture," Jooheon counters.

"Well, that too. But _hypothetically_. So, okay, you're possibly sad — lonely, maybe? You seem to want people to like you, so you must worry a lot about what others think of you. Maybe you want a group of strangers with a lot of problems to make you feel better about yourself."

Jooheon blinks, then covers his hesitation with a tensive smile. "Any other guess?"

"I'll just consider that as a possible unnecessary detail,"Minhyuk utters, mostly to himself. "Anyway, I noticed last week you wore a jacket, and now you're wearing a sweater, even though it's been like thirty degrees the past two weeks and sweater weather is over."

This time, Jooheon doesn't do a good job of hiding his pause. He self-consciously crosses his arms, uncrosses them, fidgets with the cotton sleeves of his pull-over. "My body runs cold."

"Maybe, but this is just hypothetical. I was thinking, maybe you wear long sleeves to hide something. Like, shooting up heroin —"

_"Heroin?"_

"But I've ruled that possibility out already," Minhyuk ignores his blurt, continues thinking through his theory entirely unbothered. "That made me boil it down to either hiding scars, bruises, or you're insecure about your arms. Or, as you said, your body runs cold. Somehow that last one just doesn't seem believable."

"Hm," is the only response Jooheon can think to offer for a few heartbeats. "Have you been thinking about me a lot, or do you just automatically run a diagnostics on anyone you meet?"

Minhyuk smiles sheepishly, shrugs his shoulders. "I think it's an artist thing."

"Well," Jooheon unnecessarily gives a dramatic pause for the sake of added anticipation, "sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a drug addict."

"Damn."

"I'm not... anything? If it were up to me, I'd probably be asleep right now. Or putting my bare hand in a flame."

Minhyuk's eyes squint when he laughs. "Isn't that a little dramatic? Support group isn't _that_ bad."

"You just haven't been here long enough," Jooheon disagrees, voice a soft chuckle. "Give it four more weeks, you're going to know why you're an atheist."

Another laugh falls from Minhyuk's lips. "So, what makes you keep coming?"

It lingers in Jooheon's mind for a while, a simple question that could easily be answered. He thinks, _because my mom wants me to go,_ but maybe it's more than that.

He cocks his head, contemplating. His fingers find his own collarbone again, tracing it through his sweater. "This is the only truth that I can tell my mother," Jooheon decides.

"Makes sense," Minhyuk nods. Even though, at least from Jooheon's standpoint, it makes no sense whatsoever.

The subway comes into view, and the two of them slow their pace at the steps descending underground.

"Well, whatever your 'thing' is, if it makes you feel better, I'm scared of numbers," Minhyuk randomly confesses, and there's no further explanation or emotion, really, visible on his face.

Jooheon curiously darts his eyes at him. He almost admits that in a way, he's scared of numbers too, but bites his tongue. "Is it, like, a specific set of numbers, or is it just the whole thing?"

"Hm, no, three. And seven."

"Really?"

"No." A soft smile licks over Minhyuk's lips, almost apologetic, as he tries shaking the hair from his eyes. "I thought that'd make you open up to me. You're too good, Jooheon-ssi."

Jooheon playfully rolls his eyes. This guy is weird, undoubtedly.

Down the steps, Minhyuk trudges in front of him, and it forces Jooheon to match his slow pace. He's not sure why he hadn't parted ways with Minhyuk before and jogged off to the other station a few kilometers away. It's practically too late now. He'll just have to make up for the lost steps later.

They push through the turnstiles and pause at the resting area, facing each other. Minhyuk seems to always beams when he looks at him, and Jooheon can't help getting distracted in how kind his cinnamon eyes are, every smile full and genuine. 

"I'm heading this way," Jooheon tells him, jerking a thumb at the escalator and staircase that's behind him.

"Guess this is where we part ways." Minhyuk has his hands dangling from his pocket, and Jooheon swears he's being looked over by him. He self-consciously pushes a hand at his own fringe, combing it away from his face into something he hopes isn't unruly. "See you at support group next week?"

"Yup, I'll be there," Jooheon exhales a breath of exasperation. "Unfortunately." 

Minhyuk chuckles lightly. "Get home safely."

Jooheon nods at him and turns away first, footsteps slow. He comes to his senses then, and rushes off into the growing crowd pooling into the staircase.

+

"You look awful," Hyunwoo says, holding the door open for Jooheon. He's one to talk, with his short hair scattered and drenched in sweat. There's a stained pool in the center of the tank top sticking to brother's chest, but of course he looks good, anyway, as people with conventionally good bodies and faces normally do. 

"And I can see your man boobs," Jooheon half-heartedly retorts. He doesn't enter, instead lifts the large box in his hands. "I brought the Subway. I'm going back home now."

"But you just got here," Hyunwoo says. Usually, he doesn't bother with him, since he knows Jooheon hates being anywhere near his dance classes. He hates it even more now that Hyunwoo has been busy orchestrating this day camp. There's nothing more irritating to Jooheon than being surrounded by a group of athletic twelve-year-old boys still strangers to love handles and beer-bellies.

(Yes, Jooheon envies the bodies of twelve-year-olds. Yes, he's already accepted there's something terribly wrong with him.)

"You can hang around," his brother offers, "since you're already over here."

Jooheon's head is throbbing from the heat and the strenuous walk from the bus stop. He squints at Hyunwoo, a pained grimace probably twisting on his face. "Do you realize you just said something mean to me, and now you want me to hang around you and dance kids for the rest of the day?"

"They're going home soon after eating," Hyunwoo tells him, completely missing the point. He takes the box from Jooheon's hand, murmuring a thank you of some sort, and still holds the door open with an elbow. "And you _do_ look awful. Is something going on?"

A sigh falls from Jooheon's lips. Hesitantly, he follows Hyunwoo into the corridor, toeing off his shoes at the door of the studio. "Still mean," he grumbles.

Even after six hours of whatever kids at dance camp do, they're still the usual always hungry and hyper preteens nearly attacking each other at the food line. Jooheon is forced to help distribute the sandwiches (against his will,) but Jooheon has learned since Hyunwoo has turned his minor in art into community outreach that just showing his face at the studio turns him into a forced volunteer.

Everyone scatters around the room in the back of the studio. The small space is loud with chatter as the students and employees wind down together. Jooheon ends up stuck at a table where three boys won't leave him alone.

The other thing Jooheon has learned from this place is that people like him — for whatever reason. He deems being the average-bodied, uncoordinated younger brother (who, words of Hyunwoo, _looks awful_ ) would automatically ostracize him, but he assumes it could also make him mistakenly come off a little interesting. 

The dance boys are talking about a competition in two weeks, and Jooheon, disinterested, zones out and back in. This all sounds depressing for a middle school life, as if being in middle school—probably the most awkward time of his life—isn't torturous enough. Apparently one of the boys dances for twelve hours every day, which is supposedly a brag. Jooheon doesn't see the fun in having blistered feet and legs colored in purple bruises, but to each their own. 

Hyunwoo ends up approaching the table mid-conversation, fondly ruffling one of his hands in a student's head the same way he does with Jooheon. "You didn't bring anything to eat," Hyunwoo notes, as if Jooheon had even planned to be stuck here this afternoon. "Do you want my sub?"

"He can have mine," one of the boys instantly offers, which momentarily Jooheon finds sweet, besides the fact there's a noticeably large bite-mark that's already been left in it. 

"No, thank you," Jooheon says to both of them. 

"You have to eat," Hyunwoo frowns, and when he does this face, he looks a lot like their dad. Kind of sounds like him, too. 

Jooheon tears his eyes away. "I already did."

The few seconds that Hyunwoo stares at him seem too drag on too long. Hyunwoo's eyes are on his arms—this, Jooheon notices a little later. They're hidden by his sweatshirt the way Jooheon has preferred lately. Subconsciously, his fingers find his own bicep through the sweatshirt, wraps around it and purses his lips when his fingers are too far from touching.

Finally, Hyunwoo lets out a small breath of air. He looks at Jooheon again, shortly, then pats the shoulder of the boy before walking off. 

Jooheon thinks that's the end of whatever that was until the day camp comes to an end. All of the students stomp up the staircase to the early summer heat, and Jooheon is left to help Hyunwoo and the rest of his employees organize the equipment. He's stacking small dumbbells on the shelf when Hyunwoo approaches him, lips pushed into a line. Jooheon holds his breath, because he feels like he has an inkling of what all of this is.

"We should probably talk about this," Hyunwoo says, keeping his voice low. The usual gentleness of his eyes are now serious and indecipherable, and it instantly brings Jooheon discomfort.

"We should talk about how you keep making me clean up this place every time I come," Jooheon easily deflects with this playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I think I should start asking for some compensation. I can leave my bank account number, but I think I prefer payment in americanos."

Hyunwoo stares at him. Sometimes, when he tries to take on the second parental figure, he can come off a bit scary. It's not that he _looks_ scary. It's more about the absence of a ghost of a smile on his mouth, like the resting face Jooheon is used to, and it fills Jooheon with more discomfort than the other anxious thought bouncing around in his head that he should be home right now getting in more push-ups and crunches.

Jooheon drops his smile. "I don't know what you wanna talk about, hyung."

"Have you seen yourself?"

"I did, and I actually thought I looked good this morning. Thanks for ruining my confidence."

A smile doesn't even twitch at Hyunwoo's lips. "You said you're done with diets."

"I'm not on a diet," Jooheon grumbles, exasperated. It's the truth, technically.

"You looked bigger the last time I saw you," he notes. _Bigger_ is all that Jooheon hears. He must mean that he looked big. "Also, aren't you hot? What's up with the sweatshirt?"

"Mom bought it for me. It's a nice shirt." Jooheon points at the logo across his chest. "Look, it's name-brand."

Jooheon is deflecting again, but he doesn't want to talk about this. It's nice that someone is noticing and validating all the work he's put in, but the interrogation is equally unbearable. The last thing he wants is his brother scolding him like he's one of his dance kids.

Hyunwoo is scrutinizing him. Jooheon tries to swallow around the growing pulse in his own throat. "You look smaller, Jooheon-ah," he tells him, quietly.

"Well, not everyone can look like you," Jooheon shoots back, and he doesn't really think about how venomous it leaves his mouth until it's already there, hanging in the air with a palpable awkwardness growing between them. It's too late to regret the unexplainable bite in his tone. It probably doesn't do much to help Hyunwoo's suspicions either.

Jooheon drops the last dumbbell on the shelf and rushes to the door. He doesn't understand why he has to be sensitive about everything. He wishes that he could hide his emotions, or even better, just simply not care about them.

Stubbornly, his brother follows after him, even as Jooheon shoves his feet into his shoes and scrambles up the staircase. 

The air is chilly outside. Jooheon hugs his arms around himself, tries to find comfort in accumulating his own warmth. He hates this, being pressured. It feels invasive. Jooheon just wants to do what he has to and be left alone. It seems ungrateful, but Jooheon swears he appreciates his family caring about him. Not a lot of other people do. At least he has a brother who always goes out of his way from time to time to keep him in check. Even if it's the last thing he wants right now, he knows he should be thankful for him.

Hyunwoo stands with him, quietly. Jooheon doesn't like that Hyunwoo is wordlessly staring at him again. It makes him feel uneasy, suddenly aware of every fidget of his own fingers, how they come up to size up the shape of his bicep again.

"I still remember when I caught you trying to make yourself throw up," Hyunwoo tells him suddenly, eyeing the ground. 

Jooheon's breath hitches. This was the last place he expected the direction of their conversation.

"How could I do that?" he instinctively replies, though the humorless laugh from his lips is silent and shaky. "I'm too gay to have a gag reflex."

Hyunwoo doesn't respond. A couple of friends sweep past them, laughing loudly until the cheery ring disappears from the alleyway.

(Jooheon remembers it, too, in the restroom at his grandmother's funeral.)

(Yup. Not his best time.)

Jooheon had never tried throwing up before, at least before then. The thought was bizarre— _is_ bizarre, because he's terrified of trying it again—but he ate too many noodles after the funeral and lost count after manually turning off his feelings with each slurp. Getting it out was all that seemed to matter in that moment. He failed, though, maybe out of panic or inexperience, either way he felt like an idiot, a failure.

Hyunwoo walked in on him gagging around his fingers again, and he let Jooheon wail in his chest with no questions, the sound nearly rattling the whole restroom. Jooheon got over it in a few minutes, then instantly deflected, because he used to be better at deflecting. Hyunwoo never brought it up again — until now. Jooheon just assumed _(hoped)_ he forgot.

"There was a friend I had at dance school who did a lot of crash diets," Hyunwoo murmurs after a drag of awkward silence, long after the weird tension has settled in the air. "Before evaluations, she'd always push herself too hard and end up in the hospital after finals. Eventually, her small intestine got blocked because of all the diets, and she had to drop out of school a few weeks before graduation."

"That sucks," Jooheon replies, dryly. He's absently pinching his wrist as Hyunwoo talks, and decides he doesn't like how much skin he can grab there compared to his biceps.

There is a point to his brother's story, which Jooheon knows, yet the single thing he finds himself picking apart is how little his problem is compared to hers.

The truth is his brother will never be _too_ worried. Tomorrow, maybe even in a few hours, he will completely forget how "awful" Jooheon looks, just like how he went so long not mentioning Jooheon with his face over the toilet bowl. The thought won't cross Hyunwoo's mind again until Jooheon's microscopic problems are serious enough, because that's how these things work, and Jooheon's problems are never serious enough.

Jooheon doesn't really know what serious-enough is. Going to the ER? Dropping out of university? A blocked small intestine? Death, maybe?

"I don't like badgering you, but you need to stop the diets before it gets out of hand," Hyunwoo continues, blinking over at him with a tinge of concern in his eyes, and the words trigger a discomfort in Jooheon's chest. It distracts him from Hyunwoo's intentions, and all Jooheon can think of is how similar the rhythm is to when Jooheon had opened up to Hyungwon about his eating problems the first time.

( _"You should stop before it goes too far,"_ Hyungwon told him, pursed lips and concerned eyes, and maybe even then Jooheon already knew he was fucked up, because this instantly sparked motivation in him to prove how far it had already went. Itching to compete with Hyungwon and be sicker than him so Jooheon could show how deeply he was already hurting.)

"Don't worry about me, hyung," Jooheon eventually tells Hyunwoo, speaking softly in hopes that way it will come off more genuine. "I'm not her."

Hyunwoo doesn't seem to buy it, like he doesn't seem to buy any other bullshit coming from his mouth, but it—this _thing_ —isn't a big deal. Jooheon isn't underweight. He's never been underweight. He won't die, at least not from this.

His eating disorder is merely a scam. By now, Jooheon would probably be better off sending a Nigerian prince his bank account number.

But what Jooheon does understand is that he's hurting himself. Actually, he knows very well. There seems to be an assumption from Hyunwoo that he doesn't know not eating well and trying to make yourself throw up at your grandmother's funeral is in fact bad, as if he isn't aware of the heartburn he falls asleep with each night, or how his muscles ache and his head spins after forcing another run out of himself. No shit he's hurting himself. It's not that Jooheon is unaware. It's that Jooheon is an idiot.

The studio doors push open suddenly. A woman peers out at them from the top step. "Hyunwoo-ssi," she calls, glancing at Jooheon fleetingly with an apologetic smile for the interruption, "we're about to close up."

"Go," Jooheon says to his brother. He lightly pushes him, because he knows Hyunwoo won't move on his own.

It's then that Hyunwoo surprises him with a hug. It isn't the familiar side-hugs where Hyunwoo pats at his back, obliviously too hard. Instead, he pulls Jooheon into his wide chest and nearly squeezes all of the air out of him. "I'll call you later."

"Sure."

Jooheon watches Hyunwoo plod down the stairs. Jooheon won't answer his call later. They both probably already know that. 

+

Hyungwon is standing in front of the church, scrolling through his phone when Jooheon finally approaches. For a second, Jooheon doesn't recognize him. He notices first that Hyungwon's cheeks are a little fuller, and a part of his brain thinks that he doesn't know who's in front of him. It's been about two weeks since Jooheon has seen Hyungwon, and his hyung is actually wearing a short-sleeved tee shirt that doesn't look like he's waiting for it to swallow him up any second.

"Wow, you're back," Jooheon greets, pausing his footsteps. Besides the blatant look over he'd just given his friend, he knows not to mention that he looks different.

"Yeah." Hyungwon smiles and shyly brushes a hand through his long hair. "I ended up in the hospital again. Apparently my digestive system is wack, and taking a whole box of lax makes it worse."

"Well, yeah, that would make sense." Jooheon leans on the building. His brows wrinkle when he really has the chance to let his words marinate. "Wait, a whole box? You sure you're not dead?"

It brings a quiet laugh from Hyungwon's mouth. "Not yet," he utters, and it rolls off his tongue a bit too carelessly. "Well, now I'm back on my bullshit. My parents made me move back in with them, though, so I can't come here that much. They're watching me like hawks. I'm pretty sure my mom was listening to me pee the other day."

"That's quite the family bonding moment," Jooheon jokes, lips cocked in a small smirk.

"Yeah, right," Hyungwon snorts. "Everyone just want to make me fat."

"Or they just care about you," Jooheon contradicts. He loops an arm in Hyungwon's, and even if it's hypocritical, he likes that there's more of him now, that his only friend isn't disappearing. "Maybe it's not a bad thing that they're watching you, you know?"

"I guess," Hyungwon murmurs. Jooheon knows that wasn't what Hyungwon wanted to hear, but either way, his hyung still looks down at Jooheon with fleetingly fond smile.

(It isn't obvious, but Jooheon is jealous. It's a flaw that will probably always be palpable in Jooheon's friendship with Hyungwon, that he envies the worst parts about him even when he tries his best not to.)

(Jooheon finds himself wondering what would happen if he were in the same place as him, like it's some rosy fantasy that plays in his head as a daydream. If people could see how much he struggled, if he looked sick enough, if he was able to go far enough to lead him to a hospitalization. Maybe lots of things would be different. Maybe he'd feel validated.)

Minhyuk comes into view suddenly. His fringe is unevenly parted in two overgrown bangs, and there's a black camera hanging from his neck. Jooheon is having a hard time not associating only that to be his personality. "Hey," this the man says to Jooheon before quickly acknowledging Hyungwon with a short bow that Hyungwon awkwardly reciprocates. 

"Oh, this is Minhyuk." Jooheon introduces him with a sheepish smile on his lips. "He's new. And an atheist."

Hyungwon has already noticed the fact Minhyuk is wearing a yellow shirt with just a capitalized _'FUCK'_ printed across in bold. "Oh," he manages before meeting Minhyuk's eyes. "I'm Hyungwon."

"Nice to meet you," Minhyuk beams.

"What do you say, coffee after?" Jooheon asks to Hyungwon first. He figures Minhyuk wouldn't want to spend time with them, but he then turns to him anyway, adds, "You can come, too, if you want."

"Yeah, why not? I like coffee," Minhyuk says, blindly fixing his hair as he says this. The dark brown strands can almost fit tucked behind his ear, and Jooheon can't help noticing it, quickly darting his eyes to his feet when Minhyuk glances at him curiously.

So, they go for coffee after support group.

Hyungwon doesn't say much, the way he usually was before Jooheon became close to him, but his silence inwardly makes Jooheon feel bad for spontaneously inviting Minhyuk along. It's just that Minhyuk was standing _right there._ Not inviting him would have been rude.

(And anyway, maybe Jooheon wants to get to know him better. Not that that's said definitely. But he _might_ want to get to know him.)

The three boys settle in a two-floor coffee shop. They find a table upstairs where the chairs are comfy and the sun pours in from the large windows. Jooheon sets his backpack on the floor and plugs in his phone to charge, while Minhyuk drops into the seat next to him. 

Minhyuk paid for their orders, which was something Jooheon hadn't expected. It's a bit of a burden when someone spends money on him, even if Jooheon only bought a thousand-won americano, but his stomach dropped, lips pursing when Minhyuk pointed at two slices of cake in the display too, obliviously shooting the two boys an amiable smile.

Of course Jooheon appreciates it, but — ugh.

It seems that food follows him everywhere. He just wants to have one good day without sugar and carbs threatening him.

Desperately, Jooheon searches for a distraction from his thoughts. He thinks frantically, racking through his quickest conversation starters that have nothing to do with food. "So," he ends up uttering to Minhyuk, "what's the thing with your mom?"

What a dumb move.

Noticeably, Minhyuk tenses at the question, along with Hyungwon across the table who had picked up on Minhyuk's mom's condition during their group discussion. There probably is never a good time to ask why someone's mom is dying, but Jooheon has an inkling this was _definitely_ not a good time to ask why someone's mom is dying.

Minhyuk swallows, chuckles awkwardly at the tension thickening in the air. "That's sudden."

"You don't have to answer," Jooheon quickly reassures him. 

"No, it's okay." A small smile tugs at Minhyuk's lips. It seems misplaced, forced, something he probably fights with each time someone brings this up. "She has cancer."

"Oh," is the only response Jooheon gets out. He feels even more guilty than before, though he's not exactly sure what better answer he could have been given.

"I'm sorry he asked," Hyungwon quickly butts in on Jooheon's behalf. Jooheon feels like he should be offended that he fucked up so bad his hyung was compelled to swoop in and save him, but he was already formulating his own apology for insensitively thrusting out such a question out of nowhere.

"It's okay," Minhyuk reassures them with the brush of a quiet laugh, "I'm used to people asking. Anyway, it'd be pretty hypocritical of me to get mad at this sort of thing.

Jooheon stares at his hands, trying to find words. It seems when hearing stories like this it's easy to ponder on what he'd do if it happened to him, and it tugs uncomfortably at his heart strings. Why'd he even bring this up?

"On the bright side," Minhyuk swiftly cuts in, probably for the sake of the mood, "she's lived longer than doctors predicted. So, who knows, maybe she'll be cancer free next year. We've been spending a lot of time together these days, too. I think situations like this always bring people closer. I dropped a lot of classes so I can have more time to take care of her."

"You take care of her alone?" Jooheon wonders, trying not to frown around the words, but he's sure his brows are wrinkling at him nonetheless.

"My dad helps out mostly," Minhyuk explains, slowly, "but he's just been working a lot to pay for her treatment, so he's too busy, and my brother started university in March. I can sacrifice the time off."

"Do you really believe the support group will help?" Jooheon asks then, after the awkward silence that passes. He doesn't mean for it to come out like _that,_ but seemingly all of his words are wrong. Maybe there isn't a correct way to have this conversation. Though, Jooheon wishes he could at least find a way better way to execute it.

"I don't know," he glances between the two men, then gives a small chuckle at Jooheon's questions. "Maybe it will; maybe it won't. I just like being there."

Jooheon doesn't know why, but he reciprocates the smile, squeezing Minhyuk's shoulder before the thought that he's reaching to _touch_ him has a chance to cross his mind. He quickly drops his hand, embarrassed, but the buzz that vibrates on the table saves Jooheon from the fiery blush rising in his cheeks.

Hyungwon beats Minhyuk to the buzzer. "I'll get our order," he insists.

Minhyuk watches him tentatively, like there's something he's trying to figure out about him. "Need a hand?"

"I got it," Hyungwon says, and he's already darting off. 

The sound of his footsteps plop slowly down the staircase before completely disappearing on the bottom floor. Minhyuk turns to Jooheon once there's only the two of them left, a bashful smile on his lips.

"I think I freaked out your friend."

Jooheon laughs. He notices that he's slouching in his chair, and quickly fixes his posture before his shoulders naturally fall again. "Nah. Hyung just might be a little shaken up. He was released from the hospital recently."

Minhyuk nearly emulates Jooheon's stunned and speechless state from before, smile completely wiped from his face. "Is he all right?" he asks

Honestly, Jooheon isn't sure of the answer.

The situation doesn't seem too well, but it's an unspoken agreement between him and Hyungwon that they graze over the weight (no pun intended) of the elephant in the room. The conversation would be too awkward and out of place for one, and Jooheon would only see himself as a hypocrite, knowing that he himself will go back home tonight and skip dinner as he usually does, which Hyungwon certainly knows.

Sometimes, Jooheon will drop in a few comments: ("It's okay to eat," he'll shoot over in a text message when Hyungwon complains about his university friends dragging him to another night out. Once a while the occasional, "It's okay to gain weight," said when Hyungwon returns to support group, downcast and anxious, though looking more like a person.)

This isn't the first time Hyungwon has ended up in the hospital, and even if Jooheon has his fingers crossed it will be Hyungwon's last, he wouldn't hold his breath.

It's not that Jooheon wouldn't care if something worse happens to his hyung. Hell, he has no idea what he'd even do with himself, but he knows in the end, being pushy may only ever help Hyungwon to gain weight, as he usually does eventually. It's merely a band-aid being placed over a bullet wound. 

Jooheon flicks his eyes to Minhyuk, chews absently on his bottom lip. "He'll be okay," he decides to say.

"Well, what about you?" Minhyuk asks, and for a second Jooheon stutters, dumfounded, thinking that somehow he figured him out, before Minhyuk leans over the table. He props his elbows up next to Jooheon. "How's your thing?"

Jooheon chokes out a laugh. _"Huh?"_

It seems to go right over Minhyuk's head until the realization gradually unfolds in three phases.

First, wide eyes, Minhyuk's mouth slightly opening and closing as he waves his hands. He tries explaining himself, but it takes him stammering over every single word that manages to escape from his mouth before he can clearly speak again.

"No, like, what we talked about before. Why you're in support group. Not —"

Minhyuk stops, because the two of them are laughing too hard. Jooheon likes the way Minhyuk laughs, how his eyes close and it sounds so high-pitched and happy. It brings a sense of comfort to Jooheon that many people don't seem to give him these days.

"Sorry," Minhyuk utters, shaking his head through laughs. He hides his face behind a hand, and Jooheon can only laugh harder. 

"It's okay," Jooheon says in between a few breaths. He shoots him a smile and has to fix his posture again. "My thing is okay, I think."

Minhyuk nods, sputters another small giggle before the two boys' laughter dwindles into another silence. Jooheon focuses on Minhyuk without giving much thought to the fact he's openly staring at him. He thinks even now, with Minhyuk quietly taking in the café and the people scattered around tables and talking lightly, that Minhyuk still has a cheerful feeling that brings a dumb smile to Jooheon's face.

Sure, he knows close to nothing about the man, but Jooheon sometimes wonders how bad things always happen to people who seem to deserve it the least. He finds himself often wishing he could just miraculously help every person in support group and make them happy. He tries, at least, by finding chances to make them laugh, despite how self-serving it inwardly is, but it never feels like he's doing much. Even for himself.

"About your mom," Jooheon starts, hating that he's bringing it up again, but he feels like he needs to say something, "you're really strong, I think. I guess you have to be strong, but, I mean, your mom must be really happy that you're her son. Being there for her and still managing to show your smile and get out of bed every day, I think a lot of people forget those little things are just as hard when life is just shitty."

A smile flickers at Minhyuk's mouth when he looks at Jooheon again. "Life is pretty shitty," he agrees.

"I hope there's someone taking care of you."

"You too." Minhyuk's eyes are gentle. He nudges their shoulders then, and somehow it makes a laugh bubble from Jooheon's mouth again. Laughing just gives him a reason to quickly escape the unfamiliar seriousness enveloping them. 

Hyungwon comes up the staircase. A wooden tray of glasses and thick, decorated cake slices wobbles in his hands. The two boys scurry to help him balance it, and Jooheon tries to ignore the flash of helplessness that flashes over Hyungwon's face.

"It's been a while since I've been to café," Minhyuk mentions as he takes his glass from the tray. Tapioca pearls bobble in a sea of green with matcha powdered over the frothed milk. Jooheon finds himself thinking ( _barely_ thinking) that he misses drinking fancy, overpriced drinks made with whole milk and not modified to zero percent sweetness. He instantly has to shake the thought from his head and snap himself back to reality with a silent, bitter sip of iced americano.

Jooheon and Hyungwon simultaneously look at the cake slices that Minhyuk places on the table one-by-one, then they look at each other. Jooheon is the first to rip his gaze away, straightens his posture and tries thinking of anything other than... _that._

"I study here a lot," Jooheon says, which at least is a better topic than bringing up someone's dead mother. Actually, these days Jooheon is just fine with studying in his room. It admittedly leaves him to be enticed by the kitchen for the whole day, but it's less of a waste to just cut a peach (or three) to satisfy himself at home rather than roaming around the city to smell food vendors and sitting in this coffee shop where he could easily slip and splurge on a spontaneous binge. 

Speaking of binge —

his eyes flick to the cake again. Jooheon is desperately trying to ignore it. For now. If it came down to it (but _only,_ if it came down to it,) he could just wipe off the frosting and take a single bite of each dessert before they leave. A forkful wouldn't be too big of a deal, despite the fact it scares him he would have no idea how to log it into his calorie tracker. It would be all right if he worked it off later, though, right? He could run for longer tomorrow morning to make up for it.

Under the table, his hand is shaky, but he does a good job of forcing a calm composure, turning away from the sight. The effort isn't as much as he hopes it to be. The cake slices are pretty. A bit too pretty. Pretty foods seem to always be the most caloric.

He eyes the cakes again, but, particularly, his attention zeros in on one. Chopped strawberries line the layers of white icing, the frosting atop perfectly ribbed with a sliced strawberry perched in the center. Nearly any sweet weakens Jooheon, but there's a different attachment he seems to have when it comes to fruit flavors. Embarrassingly enough.

"Do you want some?" Minhyuk asks suddenly, noticing his stare.

Jooheon's stomach flips. He's usually better with pretending not to look at food so longingly. Naturally, his eyes find Hyungwon, desperate, even though there's nothing his hyung could possibly do for Jooheon to avoid this.

They speak with their eyes as much as they can: Hyungwon fleetingly widening his own, utterly clueless; darting his eyes to the cakes, then quickly to Minhyuk, back to Jooheon; clueless, again.

"I'm okay," Jooheon pathetically chokes out. After, he blurts, "I'm going to go to the restroom."

Minhyuk is sipping from his glass, ignoring the straw. When he glances at Jooheon, oblivious, there's white froth faintly smeared over his lips. "Okay. Don't have too much fun."

In the restroom, Jooheon's heart thumps manically, thoughts following the same beat.

_What to do. What to do._

He paces back and forth, counting his steps, counting his breaths. His left arm feels as if it's slowly falling limp, numbing. He holds it in his hand, smooths his fingers over his biceps and squeezes as hard as his strength will allow. There's still a while to go before his fingers will be able to touch each other around it. The thought upsets him. He's been suffering so much, yet he's nowhere near what he wants to be.

If only he didn't eat so much.

_Breathe._

His heart hurts. Jooheon sucks in a breath, counts, exhales again, slowly, lets his eyes flutter closed.

A breathy sigh escapes his lips. His eyes trail to one of the opened stall doors, stares at the toilet bowl too long. He could —

 _No._ Why would he? He hasn't eaten anything.

Jooheon sighs again, because it feels like his breath is trapped in his chest. He needs to get out of here without anyone seeing him, but the three of them sat right by the staircase, and there's no way to escape down them without Hyungwon—or worse, _Minhyuk_ —noticing him making a run for it.

He notices the window then, and despite any sort of common sense that could stop him, he rushes towards it.

The lock is nearly rusted over. Jooheon has to struggle with it before it cracks, and he can finally feel the warm air sweep into the restroom. He's two stories up, which isn't good, but he's panicking. Being outside where there is more space and no cake, he can breathe. He can find air.

Jooheon doesn't think he can fit, but once he has his head and arms in the window, half of his torso slips through. From below, someone stares at him, confused, then rushes off. Good. Jooheon rather not have witnesses when he falls to his death.

Only now that half his body is in the window, Jooheon realizes how much more anxiety-inducing this situation is than being locked in the room. Now he's in too deep — literally. He only has two choices now: cracking his face on the street, or eating cake. Obviously, he has to go with the first one.

He tries a shimmy, but he can't slide anymore. The window is tight around his waist, locking him there. Basically all of those ab exercises he does on his floor for hours has done nothing.

People outside ignore him, darting their eyes away quickly from whatever foolery Jooheon must look like, as if they haven't witnessed anything. Jooheon doesn't expect much more from people in the city. In a while, someone will probably take out the time to call the police, if no one has already, or Jooheon's waist will find a way to slip through along with the rest of him, and he'll break every bone and die. Whichever happens first.

He takes a moment to think over his fairly uneventful life, reviews it like an automated iPhone slideshow in his head. Most of it is just binging on Pringles and dumplings and telling lies. He thinks, fleetingly, he wouldn't be too upset dying right now.

"Jooheon-ah?"

It's Hyungwon's voice. Jooheon kicks his legs in response, too embarrassed to even try choking out words. Being able to engage in any verbal communication is unsure, anyway, hence all of his blood is steadily rushing to his head. 

Hyungwon's laugh is the only sound that follows. It takes everything out of Jooheon to not kick wildly in hopes he can hit Hyungwon, but unfortunately, his friend is the only way he can get himself out of the window.

"Didn't your friend tell you not to have too much fun?" Hyungwon jokes through laughs, thinking he's funny, but he at least grabs Jooheon's legs then and tries pulling him.

The window is still tight around his waist. Jooheon wiggles in hopes it'll help Hyungwon drag him out, but he doesn't seem to move even a little.

After a few more fails, Hyungwon drops his legs, already out of breath. "You're really stuck," he tells him, defeated.

"Yeah, I've figured that one out," Jooheon retorts.

Hyungwon doesn't hear him. "I can't get you out by myself. I'm going to have to get your friend."

 _"No!"_ Jooheon screams. More accurately, croaks. He isn't sure if Hyungwon just didn't hear him again, but he hears his hyung's footsteps diminishing in the opposite direction before the restroom door thuds.

Once he's alone, Jooheon can feel the panic rising in his chest again. There's no coherent words he could use to possibly explain how he ended up here. He shouldn't care what Minhyuk thinks, but he cares what everyone thinks. He probably looks insane, swinging his arms two stories up, legs kicking on the other side of the window. It helps him about as much as it had before. 

The restroom door thuds again, and Jooheon falls limp. Honestly, he wouldn't mind sliding out the other side of the window and breaking all of his bones right here, right now. If he lived, maybe he'd wake up with amnesia and wouldn't have to bring up or think of this situation ever again.

"I've never seen this happen before," Minhyuk says, laughing to himself, and Jooheon can feel his own face burning with fiery humiliation. "Can I take a picture?"

"No!" Jooheon desperately kicks his legs. 

"I think he doesn't want you to take a picture," Hyungwon translates. Hands wrap around one of Jooheon's legs. He assumes they belong to Hyungwon with how much closer his voice is. "Okay, Joo, we're going to pull you out now. Try wagging around a bit. It might help."

Another pair of hands are on his other leg. This isn't the time to feel uncomfortable, but Jooheon wishes they weren't touching him. He's skipped leg day for the past two weeks, and — 

_okay,_ this really isn't the time to be thinking about his unfit legs right now.

Minhyuk counts down, and then Jooheon is being pulled again. It's an unsystematic mess with Hyungwon pulling him in the opposite direction and Minhyuk nearly twisting Jooheon's ankle, but eventually the grip on his waist loosens. Jooheon slips out suddenly, certainly way too fast.

They all tumble to the floor in a heap of heavy breaths and hard _wack_ s on the hard floor, but despite it, Jooheon's fall is broken by Minhyuk's lap. 

"Are you all right?" Minhyuk asks him, voice soft. His breath is too close on Jooheon's skin, and it's then that he notices (for whatever reason) he's in fact enveloped in Minhyuk's arms. The other boy's chest, rapidly shrinking and expanding, is pressed to Jooheon's back.

There are many dialogue options Jooheon struggles to choose. Momentarily, he thinks of a classic _'you saved me'_ distressed response, but he's a little distracted at the fact he's literally in Minhyuk. Well, no, not _in,_ but he has in fact landed between his legs. 

Jooheon scrambles away from him. His face is hot _and_ cold, and he's experiencing a type of vertigo from standing up. Whether it be from anxiety or hanging upside down from a restroom window, none of this is a situation someone who hasn't eaten since yesterday should be endearing.

"We should leave," Jooheon promptly decides.

No one protests.

It's in his plan, somehow, to avoid Minhyuk. Avoiding him for the rest of his life would be ideal, in hopes Minhyuk will take everything he saw today and never speak of it again. Jooheon prefers for Minhyuk to just forget his entire existence so that Jooheon won't ever have to face anything, but at this point, he would have taken either option.

Jooheon has quickly learned, though, that Minhyuk isn't the type of person who just goes away.

Minhyuk trails after him to the bus stop when Jooheon chooses not to take the metro with Hyungwon for today. He has his fake backpack on again that flaps whenever there's even the slightest bounce in his footsteps.

"You don't have to wait for me," Jooheon tells Minhyuk, eyeing his own fingertips peeking under the long sleeves of his jacket.

They're at the bus stop together, and Jooheon sits on a bench, slouching from exhaustion.

Minhyuk chuckles lightly and sits next to him. One of his legs are pulled up, the other on the seat nearly touching Jooheon's. Probably unintentionally. Jooheon's brain is still anxious about it. "I know," he says.

Jooheon doesn't understand Minhyuk. He looks ahead into the street, fidgets with his sleeves. He's fortunate, at least, that Minhyuk doesn't inquire about an explanation. Jooheon is embarrassed enough, really. And tired.

(And hungry.)

A sigh pushes from his mouth. He unzips his bag and retrieves the pouch and protein bar he always carries with him.

"Is that diet juice?" Minhyuk wonders.

Jooheon freezes as he's twisting the pouch cap off.

Eating in front of other people always follows along the same lines. Someone comments on what he eats; someone _reminds_ him that he's eating. Now that it's inevitably noticed, he contemplates just packing his snacks back into his bag, but he's so hungry he ends up sucking on the juice pouch anyway.

"I just like the taste," is the only lie Jooheon can think of saying. It tastes like chemicals and anorexia, but at least it suppresses his appetite. By now, his taste buds and teeth are sick of drinking green tea, and he hasn't got around to buying more konjac jelly.

Neither of them speak for a few moments. There is only five minutes until Jooheon's bus will arrive. He keeps his eyes on the street, then contemplates the protein bar before tucking it back into his bag.

"Do you know why I took a photo of you that day?" Minhyuk speaks. His back is straighter now, arms wrapping around his propped up leg.

"Besides the school project?"

He hums. "There's a reason I singled you out."

Jooheon can barely remember anything about that day, other than the discomfort of someone having a photo of him. 

His anger was less about the fact a stranger had taken a picture of him, and more about the fact he cannot stand pictures of himself. Sometimes, Jooheon is comfortable with his own selfies, when he can control the angle and the filter and the lighting, leaving it up to him and only him whether or not anyone beyond his camera roll will see it.

Pictures from other people are different.

"I'm pretty good at reading people. My mom says it's like my sixth sense," Minhyuk explains to him. This small smile fondly curves at his lips at the mention of his mother. "But figuring you out is pretty hard, Jooheon-ssi. I can't explain it well, but you seemed like a lot more. I don't get that feeling from most people."

Jooheon doesn't respond. He isn't sure where to start, or how to, really.

"And now you try to make me believe there's nothing more to you," Minhyuk continues, absently brushing the tips of his fingertips over his lips, "but then you go and do something really weird and unpredictable, and I just find it interesting. You seem like you're an open book, but over these past few weeks, I think you're not."

Jooheon blinks at him, questioningly. "That's a lot to gather from someone you only saw for two seconds at a station."

Buses uniformly roll down the street, slowing in a line. Minhyuk laughs and stands with Jooheon as he slurps down the rest of the juice in his pouch.

"Well then, I guess I just thought you were cute," Minhyuk shrugs. "See you next week."

Minhyuk has already walked away and stepped into a different bus before Jooheon registers the words in his mind.

 _Cute?_ What the hell?

Jooheon walks distractedly to his own bus, scans his phone and plops into the back. Jooheon finds a smile creeping onto his mouth. He bites at it, ignores how stupid his reflection looks in the bus window as it rolls away.

+

Crushes are a waste of time.

Jooheon finds himself thinking of Minhyuk more times than plausible. He thinks of his gigantic hands (freakishly, almost, but Jooheon's thoughts could go in an entirely different direction with that;) he thinks of the way Minhyuk blinks unevenly at him and his eyes—that sparkle, annoyingly—squint when he smiles; how he cares about people (about _him_ ) too much; and how even the sound of Minhyuk's voice energizes Jooheon, makes him feel strangely hopeful.

Minhyuk is the sort of person that people have crushes on. He looks like a flower boy, for fucks sake, something Jooheon thought was a turn-off, but he likes Minhyuk's face and the scent of his cologne, almost as much as he likes talking to him.

But this _thing_ eventually ruins everything for Jooheon.

He keeps wondering why Minhyuk would find him cute in the first place. There's nothing special about him, on the contrary to whatever "interesting" impression Jooheon had unintentionally given off at the subway, and clearly Jooheon is not that big a fan of his own looks.

This feels like a joke, someone finding him cute. It makes him feel different, and Jooheon doesn't know how to handle feeling different. He doesn't know how to handle the butterflies in his stomach, and how after a while it's replaced with dread and anxiety until any positive connection to the thought of someone liking him is left battered and lifeless.

It's why Jooheon doesn't need to be alone right now, and it's of course just his luck that his mom is off on vacation with her friends for the weekend. Now, Jooheon is on the second, long-drawn day of being all by himself, surrounded by food and surrounded by bad thoughts. He wants to run away from the emptiness that takes up all the space in the apartment and leaves no room for him, find somewhere else to go that doesn't make his chest grow tight, but his anxiety is moving him by strings, controlling him, confining him to an apartment that's seems too small and too big all at once, and Jooheon thinks any second he's going to lose it —

"I did a bad thing," Jooheon blurts once he's pulled open the door of his apartment. Hyungwon is there on the other side, looking back at him questioningly from under the overgrown bangs curled over his eyes.

It's getting late, and Jooheon is panicking, because he did in fact do a bad thing.

"What's wrong?" asks Hyungwon.

The door closes behind him, and his hyung palpably freezes once he's stepped in and toed his shoes off. The bad thing pretty much explains itself with how visibly the numerous pints of light ice cream are scattered all over the center table and floor. They are all various colors and flavors, and Jooheon can feel this scrape of uneasiness wild and fiery in his chest.

(He's a pig. God, he's such a pig. Hyungwon must think he's a pig, too.)

"It's okay," Hyungwon assures him then, as if he can hear all of the panicked thoughts running through Jooheon's head. "How'd you get all of this?"

"I ordered it," Jooheon breathes. He pushes a hand through his hair, tries to suck in a breath that won't catch in his chest for too long. "I wanted ice cream. I don't know. I just wanted ice cream and —"

He can't breathe. Again.

Jooheon sinks to the floor, because standing is hard suddenly. He just squats there beside all of the hundred-thousands of won he'd just spent on fucking food, and tries to block out all of the dangerous thoughts thumping harshly at his temples.

_Pigpigpigpig._

"I want to eat all of it," Jooheon whimpers, two fists shakily tugging at the strands of his hair. His mouth is opening before he can think, and he's terribly disgusted when he realizes his confession, as if he wasn't the one who'd let it cross from his lips. 

Hyungwon pulls off his jacket. The sight of his paper-thin arms electrifies Jooheon with the sudden, short-lived desire to never consume a calorie for the rest of his life.

He slowly squats next to Jooheon, kind of just stares at him for a few moments like he's unsure what to do with him.

"You can eat it if you want —"

"Don't say that," Jooheon pleads, eyes flickering wide in horror.

"Dude, it's all right." And Hyungwon has this gentle, soothing voice that Jooheon isn't used to hearing from him. "Haven't you been restricting like crazy lately? If you want to eat the ice cream, then it's okay. It's low calorie, anyway. One pint won't ruin all of your progress, right?"

Jooheon looks at Hyungwon with narrowed, glaring eyes. "I don't want logic right now, hyung."

"I know." An unapologetic smile quirks at Hyungwon's mouth. He pats Jooheon's back. "But I'm right."

He _is_ right — in a way. There's a reason Jooheon lost his mind and impulsively ordered a bulk of light ice cream in the middle of the night. He's terribly deprived and he's fucking hungry, and his body is fighting him relentlessly. It's craving the taste of sugar, and the creamy feel of ice cream on his tongue. 

He does end up eating. Later, that is, when it's been a half-hour of a trembling body and Hyungwon silently sitting beside him on the couch. He's just there without much words, but Jooheon appreciates it nonetheless.

Once Jooheon has one of the pints in his hands, slipping off the lid, it feels okay. Though, he still feels his head becoming light at the sight of it. One part of him is nauseous at the thought of swallowing it in front of Hyungwon, of fat sticking to his body and bloating him and not being able to stop, but a spoon is already stabbed into the strange mix of hard-rock frozen and sloppily melted fake dessert.

It's mugwort flavor. The spoonful melts in his mouth, and his nerves calm momentarily as he lets it slide down his throat. _Sugar_ — that's all he can think. Substitute or not, his mouth and body is needy. His stomach audibly grumbles, impatient, and he's already shoveling another spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth.

It almost helps when Hyungwon reaches for a pint himself, and Jooheon is slightly comforted by the fact he's no longer the only one eating. He wordlessly hands Hyungwon a spoon, and they both sit in silence across from each other, working through their pints and avoiding each other's eyes. 

"Do you think," Jooheon says, carefully, and his spoon fleetingly freezes when he already sees a speckle of the bottom of the pint through all of the moss green, "Minhyuk will ever figure out my eating problem?"

He watches as Hyungwon meticulously takes the smallest brush of ice cream on his spoon, and it really dawns in on Jooheon how odd it is seeing Hyungwon in his apartment and sitting on his couch. It's as if two disconnected parts of his life have blended together in a crossover episode.

"Not if you don't tell him," Hyungwon answers.

Maybe.

But every time Jooheon is around food, he either has an anxiety attack or eats like it's his last meal. That's not something normal people just receive. Someone like Minhyuk (all cheery smiles and a chirpy voice and stick arms) couldn't fathom this horrible reality Jooheon lives in where food scares the hell out of him and lives nestled in every breath and every thought.

"If I disappear from Seoul under mysterious circumstances, you know what happened," Jooheon grumbles. It's a joke, but as he reaches for another pint of ice cream—this time, vanilla bean—the thought seems rather enticing.

Hyungwon just smiles, then sets down his own half-eaten pint. He never actually is much help when Jooheon decides to complain, but it could either be the fact it's too hard to think with food in front of them, or Jooheon is just overreacting.

Either way, he decides to stop talking about Minhyuk. It's much easier to just ignore his thoughts and eat.

Jooheon looks into the sea of white in his hand, and he hates it, you know. He hates that food is the one thing that shoots him into panic mode, though it's the only thing that can console him. He doesn't get why he can't control himself. If Hyungwon can control himself, why can't he? His hyung's face is already thinning after only a few weeks of being out of the hospital, and it seemingly makes all the successful days Jooheon has restricted his carb and sugar intake day after day insignificant.

Why is Jooheon so bad at this? 

He must stare at his pint for a few minutes, considering it. After a while, he breaks, then ends up taking another bite despite the regret that bubbles in his gut. Stopping now won't change anything. He's already ruined the day.

Slipping up after so long of finally controlling what he eats and dropping off weight every few days, feels as if every second he's convinced himself to not give up has gone down the drain. This morning, he typed out the weight and calories in his breakfast (a single, sliced apple,) organized in his Notes with the other foods he'd planned to allow himself by the end of the day, and now it's eleven o'clock and he's he's reaching for his third pint of light ice cream.

It's like he's morphed into an entirely different person in just a few hours. A person who has lost all sense of control. A person who will most definitely devour all of these pints no matter who is there to witness it.

Minhyuk flashes in his head again, and Jooheon is brushed with nausea. He has no idea why Minhyuk likes him.

"I eat so much," Jooheon mumbles into his spoon, like he doesn't care, like it doesn't hurt. It's a lighter statement than blurting out that he's a pig and hates himself. "I should start a YouTube channel."

Jooheon brings another spoonful to his mouth, hand slightly trembling, and there's something in his head weakly demanding for him to stop fucking eating. Though, his hand feels detached at this point, operating on its own. Even if Jooheon wanted to stop, he's unsure if he would be able to. 

Hyungwon laughs, halfheartedly, glancing down at the stickiness on his fingers with a wrinkle fleetingly forming in his brow. "Don't start a YouTube channel."

"Why not?" Jooheon pouts playfully. "I think I would be pretty good at it."

"What would you do? Shirataki noodles ASMR?"

Jooheon lets out a genuine laugh. He softly kicks Hyungwon's ankle, then switches the TV to Netflix. As always, he clicks through the different options, contemplating the covers, before just resuming from the last episode he watched of Brooklyn 99. He blindly reaches for another pint. By now he's lost count of how much ice cream he's eaten, but fuck it. Is he really going to be upset over a bit of diet food?

(Yes. Yes, he is.)

He bites it anyway, swallows willingly. He should stop. The ice cream is starting to feel gross and too cold on his tongue, and all the sugar alcohols are burning in his throat. The nagging voice gets louder each time the spoon touches his mouth, screaming, shouting, and Jooheon can't fight how truly disgusting he feels. He should really stop, yet later, he ends up reaching for another pint. And another. And another.

Five episodes later, Hyungwon is asleep and cuddled into a throw blanket that barely does much to cover his long body, and Jooheon is of course still wide awake. His eyes are glued to the TV, though he isn't really seeing anything. He's too busy shoveling more ice cream into his mouth.

His teeth are cold, and he already feels gigantic as if he's taking up the whole couch. Why can't he just stop?

Jooheon hates himself at this point. His heart is loud and reckless behind his ribcage again, though he feels like too much of a burden to reach over and shake Hyungwon awake. He feels bad even asking him to come over in the first place. There's no way Hyungwon thinks Jooheon has control by now, and it pains Jooheon that he'd be right. Jooheon doesn't have even a little self-discipline left in his body after this.

He's uncomfortably full, like he's going to burst past the waistband of his pants any second, and the sad part is that he wants to eat more. He wants to eat until he can't feel his disappointment anymore. Until the apartment doesn't feel so lonely. Until he can't pick apart all of the reasons why there's no way Minhyuk actually likes him.

By the time Jooheon makes it to the washroom, bare feet slapping softly against the cold tiles of the floor, his body is quivering. He can hear each of his breaths, staggered and heavy, as it leaves his lips, and he can't stand this feeling.

He can't stand being full. He needs to be empty. 

His eyes land on the toilet, and it’s then that he pauses. The toilet seems to stare back at him, whispers to him in the deafening silence. Jooheon's stomach grumbles and gargles in pain, reminds him how much of a fat failure he is, and he thinks, _fuck this._

The last time he tried throwing up he'd completely zoned out, much like the spell where he can't stop eating until he's doubled over in pain, but Jooheon does remember how much he hated the feeling. No matter how many times he tried, loudly gagging over the toilet bowl, he couldn't get it out, and what he remembers the most is the embarrassment shattering over him when Hyunwoo caught him, his brother's face vivid in his mind, how surprised and confused he was.

This time, it only takes a few brushes over his uvula, and he's gagging over the toilet with a tearful burn in his eyes. He's horrified. A part of him feels dirty, but his stomach is so swollen that he can't find the time to care.

He slides his fingers into his throat again, and pukes a few more times just to make sure he gets out as much ice cream as he can.

It feels too easy — all of this. His throat only burns faintly from the acid, this tangy taste in his mouth that slightly makes him gag once he stands. He flushes the toilet, and then it's over. The fullness is gone. The anxiety is gone. It's too perfect of a solution, it seems.

Back in the living room, Hyungwon is now half-awake on his couch. His eyes are droopy, and the blanket is now draped over legs.

"You good?" asks Hyungwon, his voice this slow drag.

"Yup," Jooheon utters in response. Definitely not guilty. Definitely did not just throw up until he saw stars.

The strong, minty taste of toothpaste from his mouth nearly stings tears in his eyes, and Hyungwon seems to look him over discerningly before he only rolls back over onto his side.

It goes like this until the end of the week.

In the day, Jooheon has his "meals" planned, pinpoints the measurements and eats with slow chews, each bite followed with a gulp of water.

Then, night falls. It's when he is routinely a mess of wrappers in the kitchen, ripping open another package of pastel tteok, downing the bag of stale chip crumbs under his bed and rummaging through the snack jar until his stomach feels and looks like a large boulder extending from his shirt. 

He knows it isn't possible to gain all the weight back in a week, but it feels that way. His stomach is bigger in the hallway, face puffy. Again. Jooheon is too scared to face the music and weigh himself. He feels like just carelessly ripping a scream from his throat, or punching a wall until all his fingers break.

But now he has his little trick.

It soothes him every few nights in this sick, twisted way. When the fullness is too much, and it seems that puking is the only option he has left.

(It's too easy.)

+

It's one of those days Jooheon would prefer no one seeing him.

He throws on a large hoodie from the closet, even though it's too hot for it, and follows it with a random pair of oversized joggers. His stomach hurts, jaws swollen from all the vomiting and two cups of cheese ramyun choked down only eight hours before, and it crosses his mind more than once in the subway he could just pretend to go to support group. Finding a coffee shop to hang around until support group is over, or hiding out in the neighborhood until his mom routinely leaves and he can sneak into the apartment again, would be easy, but nonetheless, Jooheon finds himself stepping into the church again, eyes low.

Minhyuk unfolds his chair right next to him. "Hey, how was your week?"

Seeing him softens Jooheon's mood a little, until he remembers how awful he must look to him right now and instantly recoils.

"It was a week," Jooheon replies, stupidly. He wonders if Minhyuk can tell that he's binged and purged for the past four days. There's no way Minhyuk doesn't notice the weight he's gained. The sight of his bloated cheeks must be enough to give it away.

Quickly, Jooheon tears his eyes to the opposite direction, and the minister miraculously steps in to the start the meeting before Minhyuk can get in another conversation starter.

The meeting follows its usual formula. Everyone reflects on their week and weekend, the good things and bad things that happened and what they've taken from it. Jooheon, unsurprisingly, doesn't listen. His mind is races the way it usually does, planning out fasting days. He wants to starve himself for weeks, but he knows with his quivering self-control he'd probably give up within twenty-four hours.

He can't come into support group looking and feeling like this again, especially now that Minhyuk expects him to be _cute._

Next time, he just has to lie to his mother and hide out at a coffee shop. No — there won't be a next time. He can't keep messing up like this, over and over again. He has to prove to himself that he can do it.

This problem is becoming even more humiliating. Jooheon puts so much effort into becoming this version of himself he's painted in his head. The likeable version, in which he's less bitter and has lean muscles and no appetite. People like him, he has more friends, and he doesn't shrink when his mother whips out her phone for a photo, instead poses without any second thoughts because he doesn't have to worry about having a bad angle. 

This image has been in his head for years, teasing him the closer he thinks that he gets, and it seems with each footstep towards it, he stumbles ten footsteps back —

"What about you, Jooheon-ah?"

Naturally, Jooheon's heartbeat picks up as he zones back in, clueless.

"Can you think of one good thing that happened this week?" the minister explains.

Everyone is watching him. They're probably anticipating another notoriously cheeky response, for him to deflect and infuriate the minister just to fleetingly feel validated by laughs, but even as Jooheon tries to think of what words to let fall from his lips, his thoughts are suddenly blank.

"I don't know," he mutters, shoulders bowing forward.

"Anything is okay. Minhyuk said that he watched a funny movie, for example. It can be something small."

Jooheon doesn't know how long he stares at the tile on the floor. The week flashes in his mind, and it feels as if he's repeatedly watching the same episode run from beginning to end. Wake up, overeat, go to classes, think about food too much, overeat, throw up — there's no other scene he can find that isn't intertwined in the horror that played out day after day.

"There was nothing," he whispers.

No one seems to hear. He's asked to repeat himself, and speak up.

"Nothing," Jooheon says, louder. "Nothing was good."

"How about," Minhyuk suddenly speaks, the chair squeaking when he turns to face him, "you woke up every morning? That's good, isn't it?"

"That's a good one," the minister agrees, far too enthusiastic to clear the awkwardness in the air.

"That was the worst part," Jooheon grumbles. Out loud — he realizes this too late. Even before the words left his lips, he knew he didn't entirely mean it that way.

He swears, for a moment, he can hear crickets chirping. Minhyuk's eyes are burning holes into the side of his face.

The minister looks uncomfortable. If it weren't for the fact he's supposed to withhold all the answers and help him, Jooheon would feel bad. "Do you want to elaborate on that?"

"What's the point?" Jooheon is talking before he can think, something he tries not to do too often, but there's a fire in him suddenly, burning and angry. "Do you really think talking to you will make me feel better? Or anyone? No one here gets better. Probably no one ever will. I've been here for five fucking months, and nothing is different. It's the same phony bullshit every week."

He's starting to raise his voice. It echoes around him in the basement, and it sinks in like a slow burn that Jooheon sounds like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. He quickly snatches his bag from the floor, but it doesn't stop his mouth from moving again.

"I'm tired of this place," Jooheon says, in case it wasn't properly communicated before. "Maybe my one good thing will be leaving this shit show."

(At least he got one good line in.)

It's silent as he scrapes his chair on the floor and rushes to the door. Before he can push it open, he pauses and turns back to the group where everyone still watches him in shock, like they've witnessed a car crash.

"I'm really sorry for swearing in church."

Then, he darts out.

As Jooheon walks aimlessly, footsteps rushed and his hands in his pockets, the embarrassment weighs down on him.

Going off was uncalled for, and he regrets it. He doesn't get why he keeps coming off mean these days, why his threshold is so much easier to be reached, why everything frustrates him and ticks him off. This must be the reason why Hyungwon is the only friend he's been able to keep.

And _Minhyuk._ Jooheon made a complete fool of himself in front of him. If Minhyuk didn't think he was a loser before, then the man most certainly now thinks he's an asshole. 

Down the street, there's a convenience store. Jooheon isn't sure how much money he brought with him, but he steps in and grabs snacks blindly, carrying it to the cash register in an armful.

The store clerk scans each item too slowly. When the man gets to the matcha latte Jooheon plops down on the counter, his hand pauses. "There's a two-plus-one deal on this," he tells him.

Jooheon ends up leaving with a backpack full of snacks, and now three matcha lattes along with it. He finds himself walking back towards the church. The building is only a glance away when he finds a bench to plop on, dragging his backpack to his side. 

The real shit show is him. At least the people in support group are trying to better themselves. At least the minister, no matter how unhelpful and clueless he may be, asks about him, unlike both of his parents who don't seem to find his wellbeing as any sort of interest.

(Not that he'd answer honestly, but the thought is what matters.)

Now, Jooheon just looks like a clown, wasting his money on food that will inevitably make him hate every fiber of his being. He can't trust himself. That's the scary part. Nothing seems to matter to him anymore. Maybe even eating won't matter, because he'll just fuck it up nonetheless, over and over and over again, a broken record that can't skip past the same line.

He's just going to drive himself insane — if he hasn't already.

It's nothing short of self-torture when he rips open a packaged sandwich and takes a bite. The anxiety is there in his chest, but his hands are in control again. He chases the escape, tired of feeling, tired of always thinking.

He's still chewing as he rips open a bag of cheese puffs. It's salty, and there are already too many slices of cheese in the sandwich—all those calories stacked on top of each other—but he shoves the rest of the sandwich half in his mouth and sets the other half aside to work on unwrapping samgak kimbap. He's too disconnected to unwrap it correctly, but even as it separates, the seaweed tangling messily in the wrapper, he still pushes it in his mouth.

It's been a while since he's tasted real mayonnaise, but nothing about it feels rewarding. All of this is a waste. Barely anything tastes good. 

Jooheon crumbles the kimbap wrapper, a frown tugged on his face at the pitiful haul inside his backpack. Living like this is hell. If he didn't always fall back into this pattern of failure, if he had any grasp on self control at all, he wouldn't have to feel like shit all the time.

It's his fault, isn't it?

Sometimes (most of the time,) he can't help wondering if this eating disorder is even real. He thinks of the emaciated girls he sees on the internet, an image he can't even try to compare to himself, and he feels like a fraud. No one will ever take him seriously if he crumbles at the mere thought of food. How can this be a disorder, anyway, if he struggles to go a week without gorging himself with empty calories he barely even likes? Being a man already doesn't fit the mold; the least he could do is have an eating disorder correctly.

There are footsteps approaching. Even if Jooheon doesn't look over instantly, he knows it must be Minhyuk whose tall and slender shadow steps closer to him. 

"I had a feeling you'd still be out here," Minhyuk says, smiling softly at the way Jooheon hesitantly trails his eyes up to him. "Can I sit?"

A lot of things about Minhyuk are unfair. The most annoying one, though, is that he has a way of comforting Jooheon too easily. Jooheon thinks he wants to be left alone to wallow in self pity and ruin himself with sugar and trans fat, but he finds himself nodding, pulling his backpack into his lap so Minhyuk can plop down next to him.

Minhyuk sits awkwardly with his hands on his knees as Jooheon pulls one of the matcha lattes from his bag and tears off the tiny straw. It only really passes his mind then, now that Minhyuk is beside him who can see him (who can judge him), that he shouldn't be drinking this. The thought is short-lived. He's in too deep now.

Jooheon tries poking the straw into the lid a few times until Minhyuk takes it from him, their fingertips fleetingly brushing, and punches the straw in for him.

"There you go." He smiles at him, of course, with his damned scintillating eyes.

(Jooheon's cheeks burn, pathetically. God, he's such an idiot.)

He rips his eyes away and sips the latte, slowly. The sugar already makes his head hurt, filling him up, but he still manages to give Minhyuk a shaky smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." Minhyuk pulls one of his legs onto the bench, tucking his ankle underneath his thigh. "It's okay to talk to me, if you want."

They sit in silence for a while. Minhyuk looks at him every few seconds. Jooheon thinks it's nice that Minhyuk went out of his way to come check in on him. The last thing Jooheon wants is to give him a cold shoulder and come off as the angry asshole he presented himself to be during support group, but he doesn't know what to say.

He glances over, then quickly looks away, clutching his backpack self-consciously as he sucks from the straw.

"I cried a lot yesterday," Minhyuk tells him, randomly. He's looking ahead, though his fingers fiddle with the shoelace on his boot. "I hadn't cried in over two months, I think. It was actually really stupid. My mom told me that morning she had a taste for fried chicken, and I let myself get way too excited because she hasn't had much of an appetite these days. I waited until my brother came back from school, because I had this whole plan in my head where we would eat together and watch TV on the couch, like when I was little."

Though a soft laugh leaves his lips, Minhyuk's face is dull. He pushes a hand through the long threads of his hair, then does it again when it falls back into his eyes.

"The kind of chicken my mom wanted was a limited edition item, though. They weren't offering it anymore," Minhyuk continues. Another small laugh exhales from his mouth, dry and humorless. "I don't know why, but I was so emotional. I started shouting a lot, begging them to just make the chicken. I usually don't get angry like that, especially knowing that poor worker had no control over the situation, but I felt desperate suddenly. My brother had to pry the phone out of my hands, then I just broke down, ugly broke down. It was really dramatic. And gross."

The side of Jooheon's mouth twitches, but imagining it saddens him. "That must of really hurt you."

"I think that's what happens, you know, when you hold it in," Minhyuk explains. He looks over at Jooheon, finally, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "I haven't been letting myself step back and be upset, and then it just exploded. But what the hell, it felt fucking good. The crying part. Not yelling at someone. That made me feel awful."

Jooheon gets the point. He understands that he's been bottling everything in, that he exploded on someone who didn't deserve it. He finishes the last sip of his latte, tosses the empty cup into his opened backpack.

"I'm a mess," Jooheon quietly confesses, the words leaving his mouth as a scratch, "and I'm scared that I'm always going to be like this."

Minhyuk doesn't respond, but his gaze is fixed on him. Already, Jooheon feels as if he's let himself say too much. Only insane people speak like this, and he probably has already put too much of himself on someone he only sees twice a week.

A second passes while Jooheon waits for Minhyuk to realize he's too much of a nuisance to deal with and give up on him, but he realizes that Minhyuk has leaned in nearly a centimeter closer, probably subconsciously, still anticipating the rest of Jooheon's words.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a cycle, but every time you tried to shake yourself from it, you always failed?" asks Jooheon.

Warm wind blows softly, sweeping Minhyuk's hair from his face.

"I'd remind myself it's okay to not succeed all the time," Minhyuk answers, and he gives a light squeeze of his hand to Jooheon's shoulder. "Remind myself that I don't always have to be strong."

Jooheon nods, fiddles with the strap of his bag. He doesn't know how to say that he's never been strong.

"Is there really not one good thing that happened last week?" Minhyuk wonders then, hand still resting on Jooheon's shoulder.

"Not really."

Minhyuk contemplates this. Jooheon feels like a stubborn asshole again before Minhyuk suddenly stands, extends his hand out to him. 

"Okay," he says, eyes gentle, "then let's find something to make it good."

+

There are some things Jooheon doesn't understand about Minhyuk. He doesn't know why Minhyuk wants to spend the rest of the day with him; why Minhyuk makes him feel so comfortable when discomfort has knotted its way into Jooheon for so long he's sure it has rewritten his DNA; why Minhyuk finds him worth any of his time, even after Jooheon has only shown himself to be a burden.

He tries not to think of that on the subway, hours after playing at a nearby arcade. There's something happy and lighthearted thumping over Jooheon's body after laughing loudly with Minhyuk, challenging him to shooting animated zombies and tossing basketball after basketball into hoops. He smiles up at Minhyuk who's standing beside him, talking about all the times he has failed his college entrance exams.

"I was bad at school," Minhyuk tells him, laughing lightly. A Piglet plush toy is tucked in his arm, something he had impulsively bought after telling Jooheon it resembled him. Still, Jooheon isn't too sure what to make of that, seeing as he can't get past the _pig_ bit, but it had made him smile when Minhyuk waved the doll at him.

("Piglet is really cute, right?" he said, happy and completely oblivious. There's that _cute_ thing again.) 

"I kind of sucked at school too," Jooheon says, and he thinks back with furrowed brows how he failed the exam a couple of times himself. He ended up having to go to classes every day until November rolled around, his scores ultimately landing him as a communications major. In retrospect, high school feels like a fever dream. "How's school now, though? You're doing something that you like."

Minhyuk blinks at him. "Oh, photography? True. My grades are way better, but my program focuses more on film and other media. I'm not breaking any records with these television history essays."

The subway slows to a stop, nearly sending Jooheon knocking over into Minhyuk. Nevertheless, as more groups of people squeeze into the space, Minhyuk moves into him, gripping onto Jooheon's handle as the subway springs them forward again, more so his hand grips right on the back of Jooheon's hand.

"Sorry," Minhyuk utters. Their faces are too close. Jooheon drops his hand and steps back, reactively, murmurs an apology to the person he bumps into behind him. 

A warmth starts in Jooheon's face. He swallows, ignoring the way it pathetically floods in his cheeks. Hopefully Minhyuk isn't able to notice, or thinks it must just be from the heat. "That's okay."

Only after a few more stops does Minhyuk motion for him to elbow through the swarm of people and wait at the door with him. They get off at the right where the two boys spill into a station surrounded by trees. Jooheon isn't familiar with this line. Even if he has lived in Seoul for most of his life, he doesn't bother doing much exploring that isn't anywhere near the area he lives. It saves money, and anyway, he prefers walking.

The crowd loosens once they are out of the subway. There doesn't seem much of a crowd, maybe given the time, but there doesn't seem to be anything to sightsee. Only a few people walk by sporadically in the streets. Every building they pass is small and old, only a few restaurants littered in the tight alleyways, until the two boys reach a tall apartment building.

An elderly man is at the entrance sweeping the stray leaves and dust from the door who cheerfully receives Jooheon and Minhyuk's bow.

"My brother should be at home with my mom," Minhyuk tells him over his shoulder. In the elevator, he presses a button for the eighth floor. "You might be able to meet them. I'm not sure whether or not my mom's asleep, though, so let's enter quietly."

"Are you sure they don't mind you randomly bringing me to your place?"

Minhyuk nods, reassures him with a smile. "My mom likes meeting my friends."

Once Minhyuk taps in the code for the apartment, they wordlessly tip-toe in. Jooheon would assume the house was vacant if it weren't for Minhyuk saying anything. Other than the television welcoming them with the soft sounds of a variety show, the small space is completely swallowed in darkness.

"Minhyuk-ah?" a voice calls. It comes somewhere in the living, or maybe the kitchen that's attached to it. In there, it's also dark.

Minhyuk grins instantly and places his shoes in a cubby at the door. "I'm back," he cheerfully announces, "and I brought Jooheon with me."

He realizes he's only referred to as Jooheon. Not 'my friend, Jooheon,' or 'the guy from support group who tried to throw himself out a window,' as if his name is already in his mother's vocabulary.

Jooheon leaves his shoes at the door. They both wash their hands in the washroom by the door before Jooheon hesitantly trails after Minhyuk into the living room.

Minhyuk flicks on a lamp that lowly illuminates the space enough for Jooheon to clearly see the pale woman sitting on the couch. A large blanket is draped over her shoulders that makes her appear frailer underneath it. He bows as Minhyuk plops on the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around his mother and readjusting the blanket over her body.

"Jooheon," she greets, offering him a smile. "Minhyuk was right; you are handsome."

Minhyuk coughs, loudly, and it makes his mother exhale a faint laugh.

"Handsome?" Jooheon pulls his eyes to Minhyuk who's avoiding his gaze, purposefully. He hides a wide smile in his mother's blanket. "What else did he say about me?"

"Nothing! I don't know what she's talking about," Minhyuk interrupts. He pulls the blanket from his face and laughs aloud in a way that tells Jooheon otherwise. The way he playfully scowls at his mother before resting his head on her shoulder doesn't go unnoticed, but Jooheon drops it when he can feel the pink growing and prickling over his own cheeks. "Anyway, Mom, the two of us are going to hang out in my room. Need anything?"

"No, I'm good," she says. A faint smile plays at her lips. It graces her face the same way that Minhyuk smiles. 

"You sure? Are you thirsty?" Minhyuk asks, solicitous as he re-tucks the blanket around her again. "I can get you a glass of water, if you want."

She rolls her eyes at Minhyuk and weakly nudges him off her shoulder. "I'm fine! Go hang out with your friend, Minhyuk-ah."

In Minhyuk's room, the blinds are tied open, pouring the bright sunlight over the pastel blue wallpaper. The drawers of a dresser are still pulled open, probably from this morning, socks and one single pair of pants flung onto the floor. It isn't really messy, but there are so many things in Minhyuk's room.

A large shelf makes up one of the walls, holding framed pictures of skylines and abstract art. There are poetry books, journals, and plush dolls. The nightstand by Minhyuk's bed has a lamp on it accompanied by a photo of Minhyuk in a cap and gown. He seems to be standing with his dad and little brother, smiling widely with a bouquet of flowers nestled in his arms.

The wall above his bed is scattered with various Polaroid pictures, mostly of random memories, like cafés and succulents, but Jooheon can make out the photos of people — Minhyuk, his mom, his brother and possibly father, and other faces that are unrecognizable.

The desk at the corner of his room is where Jooheon can tell a lot of Minhyuk's time in this room is spent. Camera equipment takes up most of the space, but Jooheon notices more journals and plush dolls, along with an unfinished Lego house, a few nail polish bottles and makeup items Jooheon can't bother to identify. 

Minhyuk sets down the cups he brings in with him, plops on the bed. Jooheon lingers awkwardly by the door until Minhyuk waves a hand at him to enter. 

"Sorry if you don't want to hang out here," Minhyuk pulls his legs onto the bed. "My mom can't be left alone, and my brother has to go to school."

Jooheon had very briefly met his little brother. There wasn't much of his face he could make out before the boy shoved his feet into a pair of shoes and darted out the door, apparently running late for his classes.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Jooheon gives him a smile and swipes the glass of water from the nightstand where another glass of Coke sits.

Today was nice. They walked aimlessly for half an hour, sipping the the last two matcha lattes from Jooheon's bag, before popping into the arcade and playing like kids again. It wasn't until after they'd left that the two men stumbled upon an over-priced store that was full of cute, miscellaneous items. It's where Minhyuk found Piglet who now rests on his pillows.

"Your mom seems really sweet," Jooheon tells him. 

A fond smile tugs on Minhyuk's mouth. "Yeah, she is."

Intentionally, Jooheon looks down when he says, "You told her about me?"

"Huh?" Minhyuk stutters, eyes widening. He stammers again and chokes out a slight laugh when he catches himself. "No. I mean, barely. Just regular things. I tell my mom everything."

"Like about me being handsome?" Jooheon narrows his eyes mischievously. 

Instead of replying, Minhyuk drops his legs and lies back, socked feet dangling from the floor. Jooheon chuckles and lightly swats Minhyuk's leg, though he doesn't bother picking up the conversation again.

Compliments may make Jooheon shy, but he loves to hear them. He tries to imagine a conversation between Minhyuk and his mom, in which Minhyuk talks about meeting him in support group. In his imagination, Minhyuk gushes about his looks and goes on repeatedly about how handsome he is. The thought only seems like a daydream.

Jooheon decides to join Minhyuk, his head nearly falling from the bed and his feet hanging off the other side. It seems really personal, lying on someone else's bed. Maybe it's just because he's with Minhyuk.

"This is my favorite picture," says Minhyuk, thoughtful.

It takes a while before Jooheon notices the framed picture across from them, upside down. Well, right side up, considering Jooheon is the one who's looking at it upside down.

There isn't much about it, or whether, Jooheon just doesn't know what to make of photography. It's a shot of somewhere outdoors, he realizes, but there's a heavy fog in the air that keeps Jooheon from really making out what he's supposed to see. The more he stares at it, he makes out the person really far into the distance, walking away in the focal point.

"Hm," is all Jooheon thinks to utter for a second, "you took this?"

"Yup. That's me right there," he says, pointing at the figure, nearly just an outline of a person. "Self-timer has really saved me."

"Is there a reason you're walking away?"

"Not walking away. Walking forward." He stretches his arms out, palms flattening on the hardwood floor. It looks like he's nearly about to launch into a backbend kick-over. "That's why it's my favorite — besides the fact I was the one who shot it."

"Your favorite, huh?" Jooheon contemplates it a little longer before his eyes flick over to Minhyuk hanging beside him. "Why do you keep it on the floor then?"

Minhyuk stares at it for a while. "Actually, I don't know. I guess because it's only for me. Do you have something like that?"

"Like a photograph?"

"Well, no, something that you're proud of, and you only care about showing it to yourself."

Jooheon tries to think, but nothing really comes to mind. There was a time he used to have hobbies, or rather, things he cared about that he wasn't awful at doing. Jooheon was always known as the one who _did_ things, maybe in an almost annoying fashion, but he doesn't have time for things like that now.

"Not really," he admits. "I don't really have any hobbies."

At this, Minhyuk pulls his body up. "None?"

"Well, I used to do a lot, I guess," Jooheon says, now sitting upright with Minhyuk. "Like, I was forced into taekwondo in elementary school for like a year before my parents finally let me go to dance classes with my brother. It was about the same time I got into music, and then I started taking piano lessons, mostly to satisfy my mom, then the guitar, drums, somehow the flute —"

"The flute?" Minhyuk snorts.

"It was a phase, mostly," Jooheon explains with a twitch of a smile at his lips. "Then, middle school happened, and my dad thought I should be active and made me play soccer for my school. But then I would play tennis, too, like as a community thing. Not my forte. In high school, I kind up gave all those things up and joined the track team. You know, before preparing for colleges came around, so I stopped that at like seventeen."

"That is," Minhyuk pauses until he thinks of the word, _"a lot."_

Jooheon shrugs. The water sloshes in his belly.

"So, what do you do now?"

"School, I guess." He reaches over and gulps down the rest of the water in his glass. In reality, there's no room for interests and hobbies. Sometimes, not even for school. He's forgotten what it's like to have motivation for something other than seeing the number on the scale drop. It's the only passion he has left.

Minhyuk frowns at that answer, but he doesn't push it. A smile tugs on his face suddenly. "In my first year of university, I joined a K-Pop dance cover group."

"Really?" Jooheon laughs. "Are there photos? Please tell me there are photos."

"Oh, there's photos." Minhyuk whips out his phone from the back of his jeans and scrolls. First, he scrolls through one of his friends' Instagram accounts before giving up and pulling up a Naver blog. "Here's our first competition."

Quickly, Jooheon peers over his phone. He anticipated some sort of TVXQ concept, but he awfully stifles a laugh when he spots Minhyuk in the photo, hair dyed a bright blonde, smiling with his arms around two girls. Nearly the whole group is girls, except for two boys sprinkled in the photo.

Minhyuk is the tallest, wearing scarily tight jeans with chains dangling from the belt buckle and a gigantic button down shirt that tucks into it, black choker around his neck.

"Actually, you look pretty cool," Jooheon tells him, and he means it despite how hard he laughs. He thinks of the students he sees busking with their university dance groups, and it makes him cackle even harder imagining Minhyuk at nineteen-years-old performing along with them, eyes filled with liner and a choker around his neck.

"We only did girl group covers," Minhyuk reminisces, happily. "I'll message one of my classmates about a video, and I'll send it to you later."

"Is that what the makeup is for?" Jooheon nods to where the products are spread across his desk.

"Well," Minhyuk carefully starts, "I don't dance with them anymore."

He stands and picks up a bottle from the desk, twirling it in his fingers. Jooheon watches him quietly, how his eyes deepen ever so lightly, twinkle dwindling.

"I usually wear a little bit for special occasions, especially if I know someone will whip a camera out," Minhyuk quietly explains, "but yeah, I think I did buy most of this when I was in the dance group."

"What happened?"

Minhyuk blinks over at him. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you leave your dance group?" Jooheon asks.

Minhyuk exhales a soft breath at the question, places the bottle back on the desk. "Time complications."

Jooheon thinks that's the end of Minhyuk's explanation. The two of them fall into silence, and he watches how Minhyuk brushes a hand over his hair in a way that scatters it in a beautiful mess over his head.

"My mom was hospitalized again, and her condition became more unstable," Minhyuk continues, voice low and seemingly reluctant. "We have to be at home as much as we can nowadays. I can't work stupid stuff like that in my schedule."

"Oh." Jooheon chews his lip. Subconsciously, he scoots closer to Minhyuk when the man plops onto the bed beside him again. "I don't think it's stupid."

Minhyuk laughs as only a short exhale from his nose.

"It looks like you had a lot of fun," Jooheon adds, gently. When Minhyuk looks at him, a smile habitually curves on Jooheon's lips, their shoulders nudging playfully. "I've never tried makeup before, actually. Are you any good?"

"Am I any good?" Minhyuk repeats, feigning offense at even being asked such a question. "I am Glitter God."

Having his makeup done isn't as satisfying as Jooheon had pictured.

After Jooheon washes his face, he returns to the room where Minhyuk has assembled his products on the bed—ironically, no glitter in sight—and then Jooheon is instructed to rest on his back where (to Jooheon's pure embarrassment) Minhyuk leans over him. There are a lot of creams he rubs on his face, but Minhyuk doesn't bother telling him what he's putting on him, or why. His face is concentrated, lips absently pushed into a pout, as he rubs another liquid _(oil?)_ on his face. 

Minhyuk finally moves onto something different and pats Jooheon's face a little too roughly with a sponge. "The color might be a little off, by the way," he warns him. "Our skin tones don't really match, but I'll make it work. I'm Blending God."

"I thought you were Glitter God."

"I'm a jack of all trades." Minhyuk goes back to dabbing the sponge on his skin, then over his lips. "I don't know how well I can fill in your brows, though. You don't really have any."

_"Hey."_

Minhyuk snorts, unapologetically, and Jooheon decides to flutter his eyes closed as Minhyuk continues to work diligently. He moves onto his eyebrows after what feels like forever, breath a light breeze over Jooheon's face.

"You're good at a lot of things," Jooheon tells him, trying to keep his face still.

Even if he can't see, he knows Minhyuk smiles. "You're good at things, too. All I do is take low quality pictures."

"No, your pictures are good," Jooheon easily argues. "You take nice pictures, you can dance to girl groups in tight pants, you know how to do makeup, and I didn't forget that you can also pull people out of windows."

At that, Minhyuk squeals with laughter. "I did help pretty well."

"See? You're good at many things."

"Jack of all trades," he reminds him.

Jooheon can hear that smile in his voice, and he smiles himself.

"No smiling!" Minhyuk panickily demands. 

Quickly, Jooheon drops it, tries adopting a still and serious resting face again as silence falls around them. Minhyuk is still doing his eyebrows with his face too close.

"Why were you in that window, anyway?" he asks, dropping his voice. 

Jooheon winces at the question. He thought he escaped having to be asked about this, but he guesses it's his fault for bringing it up in the first place.

"I rather not talk about it," Jooheon mumbles.

"You weren't trying to jump out of it, were you?" Minhyuk's hand pauses on his face for a heartbeat. His voice wavers, tinged with genuine concern, before Jooheon hears something opening and a cream is lightly dabbed in the center of his lips. "The ground wasn't that high up, so you wouldn't have died — if that's what you were trying."

"Oh. No," Jooheon replies, quickly. "What I said in support group, I don't — I think I gave off the wrong idea."

There's a few heartbeats before Minhyuk answers. "Are you going to be okay?"

His breath is warm, and even if Jooheon shouldn't, he flickers his eyes open to look at him. Minhyuk is staring back at him, and suddenly Jooheon feels vulnerable, exposed. "Of course," Jooheon tells him.

"Can you promise me?"

So, they hook pinkies, thumbs pressing. There's a faint smear of red on Minhyuk's pointer finger.

"All right, I trust you," Minhyuk breathes, and he gives Jooheon a slight, playful smile before waggling his painted fingertip at him. "Now let me get back to this."

This time, Jooheon doesn't close his eyes.

Minhyuk leans in a little closer again, carefully pigmenting Jooheon's lips, and Jooheon finds himself becoming distracted and looking at Minhyuk's. Staring, rather. They're... nice.

His bottom lip is a bit more plush than the top. And very pink. What a pointless thought. But no, they're _rosy,_ precisely. And probably soft.

(That's another stupid observation.)

Minhyuk's hand isn't moving anymore. It takes a while for Jooheon to realize that, when he zones in and his eyes slide up to meet Minhyuk's returned stare. He didn't know Minhyuk was looking at him, but he doesn't feel exposed anymore. There's a new feeling seeping into Jooheon, smoothing out his shyness. Something warm.

The gap between them closes in with some hesitance. They're both unsure, but the anticipation doesn't last long before their lips press together. It doesn't make much sense to Jooheon in the moment, how he presses himself into Minhyuk and melts into his mouth, though it's the one thing Jooheon doesn't need to make sense. 

He likes Minhyuk's gentle mouth, how he faintly tastes sweet, how his lips are soothing and astral and addicting.

There's a tint of red messily smeared over Minhyuk's lips when he pulls away. His eyelashes flutter for a moment. "Oh," he whispers.

Jooheon doesn't know what that means. If it's a good _oh,_ a bad _oh,_ a shocked intertwined with appalled _oh._

But he doesn't bother asking, only pulls Minhyuk in and takes the way their mouths easily fall open against each other, (Minhyuk suddenly straddling him with a slight pressure on Jooheon's waist,) as the only answer he needs.

+

A few times after, Jooheon ends up in Minhyuk's apartment again.

They sit in his room, sprawled out on the top of the bed, upside down with their legs dangling, and Jooheon can see the framed picture propped on the floor, of Minhyuk's outline walking away into the fog — walking _forward._

It's later than usual when they lay on their bellies, surrounding Minhyuk's laptop playing _Satellite Girl And Milk Cow_ at the highest volume _._ Jooheon has trouble paying attention and following the nonexistent plot when Minhyuk is this pretty. The screen glows, splashes color over Minhyuk's face as the sun sets in the cracked window.

"Hyung," Jooheon calls, voice reluctant and soft, and he's instantly met with a warm gaze and candy lips that curl upwards attentively. "I have a secret."

Jooheon isn't sure where he's going with this, but it's already been said, out there existing in the air. Minhyuk has a hand tucked under his chin. "You didn't lie about the drug thing, did you?"

"No." Jooheon playfully rolls his eyes. He has to look up at him with his head lying on the bed, hands tucked underneath for an uncomfortable cushion. "Would you still like me, even if I sucked?"

" _I_ suck," Minhyuk answers, laugh escaping his throat.

He doesn't, though. 

The reason why he feels like being honest is because he's fallen back into his own restrictive patterns, as he usually does. Obsessing over his food, running in the park for hours until he's at his limit, on the brink of collapsing.

It's difficult, impossible almost, having to think of how Minhyuk would react if he knew how messy Jooheon was. If he knew of how Jooheon starves and binges and starves and purges — the perfect yo-yo undecidedly bouncing back and forth between every disordered behavior that can cross his mind — he'd think he's insane. Jooheon itches to tell him, though, once in a blue moon. He looks at Minhyuk, and he feels like he can say anything to him with no thoughts.

Jooheon sits up, drawing his legs to his chest. "So," he utters, then pauses, pursing his lips, "uh, I have a habit of breathing through my mouth."

"No." Minhyuk feigns shock, mouth gaping. "You're a... _mouth_ -breather?"

"It's a flaw, I admit it. I snore, too. Like, really badly. It sounds like I'm asthmatic."

Minhyuk laughs at him, and it erases the guilt deep in Jooheon's gut for not admitting the truth to him. "I can pop my thumb out of place," Minhyuk tells him. "Usually I do it accidentally, but I can still do it own my own."

For proof, he shows him. Somehow it only takes half a second for Minhyuk's thumb to pop out, as if it's done involuntarily. Jooheon yelps, in contrast to Minhyuk's entirely calm, unfazed expression. He laughs at the shock on Jooheon's face and pops his thumb back to its original state.

And then Jooheon is just talking, mindlessly and stupidly. 

"I have to eat Skittles alone," he tells him next, "because I only eat the red ones."

Minhyuk follows his confession with no reluctance, "At home, I pee sitting down."

The two boys burst into uncontrollable laughter. They end up on their backs together in seemingly a hundred confessions later, staring at the white ceiling.

"When no one's home, I teeth drum," Jooheon tells him. His voice is slowing with the sky now a dark navy and listening to Minhyuk's voice rising and falling beside him, the forgotten movie now paused and pushed aside on the laptop.

"Do I want to know what that is?" Minhyuk looks over at him, eyes still swimming in brightness. They only chuckle together, and Minhyuk hums, thinking of another confession. "On the subway, I listen to rhythm game soundtracks."

"At urinals, I always give in and look at other people's dicks, even when I try not to."

"Sometimes I simulate conversations with myself, and the other voice is in Japanese."

Jooheon yawns. His smile spreads on his face dopily. "You speak Japanese?"

"Kind of."

"You're weird, Minhyuk." He rolls over onto his side so that they can face each other, tired-eyed, just a few scoots over could bring them together. "You lie about being scared of numbers, and you don't know what teeth drumming is."

Minhyuk's chuckle is quiet, his blink slow and uneven. "No one knows what that is."

"I'm happy I met you," Jooheon says, and the words slip from Jooheon's mouth spontaneously. He doesn't mind that much that it's out there, though, because he likes the way a smile spreads on Minhyuk's face and crinkles at his warm coffee eyes. "That's my biggest secret, and I just told it to you."

He thinks of kissing Minhyuk. He wants to kiss him. He wants to feel his lips again, hold him, lace his fingers in Minhyuk's soft hair. Though, the two of them just stay like this, too close and unmoving.

"I'm happy I met you, too," Minhyuk says. He leans closer, whispers in this husky voice, "Now you know my secret."

+

Water pours over his face. Jooheon rubs a hand over his eyes, humming softly as he quickly washes the suds from his skin. The rising steam feels soothing after yet another vigorous work-out. Jooheon may have pulled something with the way one of his calves oddly burns, on the brink of crippling him with any turn, but he decides to not think too deeply into it. Pain feels familiar at this point.

A yawn falls from his mouth. Jooheon drags a hand through his hair to scrub at any excess shampoo, then he pauses, looks at his opened palm. A small cluster of inky, wet hair sits there. 

His eyes widen. This doesn't look like a casual hair shed.

His eyes must be playing a trick on him. Maybe he pushed himself too hard and is seeing things. Maybe he has always shed this much in the shower and never bothered to notice.

Jooheon lets the water pour down on his palm, and the cluster sticks to the shower floor. 

When his fingers thread through his hair again, more wet strands fall. A few drift, dropping on his shoulder. His hand quivers.

It takes a few minutes to clean the hair from the drain. His heart pounds, still, but after, his hair looks the same in the mirror as before, despite the shedding. Jooheon stares at himself intently, mostly at his hairline, then decides to not let that single clump ( _barely_ a clump) bother him. The problem seemed more serious in the shower. What a waste of panic.

He finger-combs his fringe over his forehead, and continues on with the rest of the day like nothing happened.

The thing is, it's not that Jooheon doesn't realize he's spiraling. This is just about as much of a reaction he can tolerate giving it.

Sometimes, he sees the genuine difference. The one without the rose-tinted glasses.

In the hallway mirror, there's a second he can clearly see the tiredness in his eyes, how his wrists and elbows look knobby, and though the muscles in his arms are more prominent, he notices how much smaller his arms are than he thought. It's like looking through a portal that wasn't meant for him, showing a gateway into an alternate universe.

The reality sinks in just a bit, and he wonders what the hell he's even doing. The thought comes seldom, but it crosses sometimes, asks _what's the point?_ And honestly, Jooheon doesn't have much of an answer.

It's times when he stares a little too long at the homeless woman huddled in her coat at the subway station, who probably unwillingly suffers days on end without proper meals while Jooheon thoughtlessly dumps his dinner in a Ziploc bag, the guilt guts him. There seems to be so many reasons when he's forcing another push-up out of himself, when he steps on the scale and he's lost a kilo or two after a few days of suffering, but in retrospect, there isn't really a point. He'll gain it all back, eventually. Weight shouldn't be this important. Weight shouldn't make every decision for him. Food shouldn't rule over him like a second conscience. 

And then the world just fades back into his own normalcy. The sudden revelation and inner crisis loses importance, his body looks annoyingly average, and he entirely snaps out of it, running his fingers over one of his collarbones and telling himself that everyone has something that makes them happy. This—no matter how sad it may be—is just his own.

(Yeah, Jooheon is pretty aware that he's spiraling.)

Summer break is nearly over. It surprises him when he finally marks off all the days on his calendar, realizes his vacation flew past and he didn't really take the time to enjoy it. He declined his mom's invitations to the pool with her friends nearly every day. It's not that he's ever been a person who's embarrassed to hang out with his mom, but he hates the way swimsuits stick to his body and enunciates the shape of it. Every day, he also thought of a new excuse to avoid being taken out to eat until his mother would just leave the apartment to enjoy the summer without inviting him. Fleetingly, Jooheon feels guilty about it.

Break ending isn't entirely bad. Sometimes, Jooheon enjoys his vacations; most of the time, he doesn't.

Breaks leave too much free time, and Jooheon certainly had too much leisure on his hands to think about food. More so, _worry_ about food. A few days he went to a VR café with Hyungwon, sometimes roller skating and shrieking out laughter every time Hyungwon smacked onto the ground, but as the weeks ticked along, Jooheon was usually left to venture on his own. Roller skating and noraebang was fun enough by himself until laziness got the best of him, and most days he didn't leave the apartment complex until his daily run.

Now that vacation is almost over, he'll have a busy schedule, giving him less time to worry about food. Jooheon accepts this escape graciously.

It's three o'clock when he finally allows himself to eat. He plops down at the kitchen table with a small bowl and a full glass of ice water.

His mom is at the sink, washing the dishes. A small sigh of exasperation leaves her lips when she glances at him nibbling on figs over her shoulder. "All you eat is fruit," she grumbles.

Whether it's a scold or just an observation is beyond him, but Jooheon thinks he eats a lot more than _just_ this. Not that he expected her to notice.

Jooheon has stopped pondering over why his mom hasn't been able to pick up on his eating habits. A part of him—a bigger part of him—is relieved she hasn't noticed. Some days he doesn't want to eat, and it's too easy to play in his plate and drop food in a napkin during dinner, creating this illusion that he's eaten, and his mom doesn't even bat an eyelash. It's a little too easy.

"I eat other things," Jooheon tells her, slightly argumentative. It's only a coincidence that this is all she's noticed, though he admits raw figs and washed kimchi have been his go-to lately. It's a weird combination, but only a few foods have felt safe to him the last few weeks.

"You've been eating like a bird."

Somehow, the comment fills him with discomfort. He sets down the fig and sips on water instead.

So, she's picking up on it a little after all, and Jooheon isn't sure how he feels about that.

He hates when people make comments about him eating. Sure, it's an upgrade from the shocked, "How did you eat all the cookies in one night?" his mom threw at him two weeks ago (the memory still gets an inward cringe out of him,) but he wishes it wasn't so natural for people to make comments on how much someone eats, how little, what they're eating — all of it can go to hell.

The default KakaoTalk tone gives him an escape from the conversation. He picks up his phone. It's a message from Minhyuk. 

_'the weather is nice_ _~'_ Minhyuk had typed. Another message instantly comes through: _'there's nothing to do today, are you free?'_

It's followed by an animated emoticon of a dog doodle dancing. Jooheon chuckles to himself and quickly types back, _'i'll check my schedule lol'_.

He checks the weather instead. It will be sunny for the rest of the day, but by sunset the rain expectancy is eighty percent. Jooheon returns to their chat thread, sends, _'it's going to rain tonight'_.

_'okay let's meet quickly!'_

Abruptly, Jooheon is sent an exit for the both of them to find each other, and they decide on meeting at four-thirty. It's three-twenty now. Jooheon would also have to transfer twice if he rode the subway. He pushes back his chair, only picking up his glass from the table.

"Are you texting Hyungwon?" his mom asks. Jooheon's relieved she doesn't press him on eating anything else.

"Nah. Minhyuk." Jooheon licks away the ridiculous smile on his face. "I'm heading out for a while. Are you going to be home tonight?"

"I'll probably be late," she tells him with her hands still buried in the sink water. "Make sure you eat dinner."

Jooheon half-heartedly hums, already stepping into the room to change out of his clothes. 

Last minute, he decides on taking the bus instead. Only a few minutes have passed since four-thirty, and he's the first one to arrive at the exit. Jooheon waits by a bike rack near the station, thumbing through his phone until he notices Minhyuk ascending from the staircase.

A grin widens on Minhyuk's face as soon as their eyes meet. He hurries over to Jooheon at the bike rack, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. "Damn it, you beat me. Now you know I'm bad at being on time."

"It's good. I only got here about eight minutes ago." He playfully knocks their shoulders. "And honestly, you never struck me as someone who gets to places on time."

Their laughs gently thump together. Minhyuk starts for the long crosswalk across the street, and Jooheon easily trails beside him into the swarm of people bustling through the city.

"I'm guessing you didn't have to stay with your mom today," Jooheon says, innocently, but Minhyuk's energy changes as soon as Jooheon mentions her.

He visibly swallows hard, smile wavering.

"Oh," Jooheon mumbles, embarrassed, "sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's okay."

It seems too quick for Jooheon to have already made things awkward. He pockets his hands, noticing how Minhyuk keeps his eyes low. "Is everything all right with your mom?" he asks.

"Everything is fine, I guess." Minhyuk's voice doesn't quiver, though the cheerful atmosphere has palpably faded. He offers Jooheon a smile, despite the shaky sigh that follows it. "My mom has been staying at the hospital lately. She has these caregivers now, so she doesn't constantly need with us with her. We're not sure yet, but she's expected to stay there until — well."

His words pause there, but Jooheon can easily fill in the blanks left for him. His heart sinks. "Why didn't you tell me, hyung?"

"Uh," Minhyuk utters at first, absently scratching at the top of his head, "I don't think it's the best conversation starter."

Jooheon nods. He gently pats a hand to Minhyuk's back, because it's all he can think to offer at him at the moment. His hand eventually slides to his shoulder with a newfound courage, deciding it's okay for his whole arm to wrap around Minhyuk.

"Look, I don't want to be a downer," Minhyuk tells him then. There's a tinge of exasperation in his voice, though a smile quickly tugs on his face as if no words were exchanged between them before. "Let's be happy, yeah? Are you hungry? I haven't eaten yet, what about you?"

And before Jooheon can even bother to utter a response, his stomach emits an embarrassing cry. It's loud and unnoticeable, as if his stupid hunger is knowingly sabotaging him. Heat burns a rosy fire in Jooheon's cheeks. 

"I guess so," Minhyuk chuckles. "What are you in the mood for? I found a good restaurant online when I was on the subway."

Inwardly, Jooheon swears at his stomach. Of course eating out was inevitable, but damn it, why does the time have to come so soon?

They end up at a restaurant nevertheless, and it's one Jooheon has never heard of before. Led lights present the name at the descending staircase. Once they step inside, the building is a large and humid space, rushing waiters sweeping past, small groups packed at round tables. Jooheon can feel his heartbeat thumping a chaotic rhythm in his chest. He knows nothing about the food here, or the menu. There won't be enough time to figure out what item has the lowest calories.

"It's packed in here." Minhyuk is fanning himself with a hand. His sun-kissed skin is already glistening. "And hot."

There's a canvas tote bag on Jooheon's shoulder. He rummages through the mess inside of it before finally whipping out an electric fan that instantly brightens Minhyuk's eyes.

"Oh my, God, thank you." He powers it on immediately to the strongest power, hair blowing in the breeze. It nearly feels as if Jooheon is watching a commercial in slow motion. The way Minhyuk's eyes flutter closed; his unblemished, faintly flushed skin; how a small smile of relief tugs at his lips. Minhyuk opens his eyes and turns the fan to Jooheon then, the cool air blowing on his own dopy smile and dimpled cheeks.

There's about a fifteen minute wait before the two boys are finally ushered to a table. The spot is deep in the back, surrounded by loud laughs and exuberant chatter. Jooheon plops into the seat against the wall and across from Minhyuk. 

Minhyuk's sunglasses are pushed into his fringe as he instantly skims through the menu the waiter hands the two men. The few lamented sheets are predictably compiled of large meals. Even the smaller dishes seem too big for one person.

Panic rises in Jooheon's chest with each option of food he considers. He has no idea how he's supposed to make it through dinner tonight, let alone the next few hours left before sunset. By the end of the night, he'll probably end up flying out of another window.

"What are you thinking?" asks Minhyuk. He stares intently at the words printed on the menu, eyes darting left to right quickly as he reads. "I might just go with the signature meal. That's always the easiest."

"True." Jooheon tries a smile, but he can feel how awkward and tight it fits on his lips. 

The crinkles under Minhyuk's eyes soften almost immediately. "Are you okay?"

"I'm great." Despite how sing-songy it leaves Jooheon's mouth, the words still sound terribly phoney. "We're happy right now, right?"

Minhyuk narrows his eyes at him, mostly playful, but a waiter approaches the table before Jooheon can find a different way to swerve the conversation. The panic is larger than before, intensified.

Jooheon's hands tightly clutch around the menu as the woman speaks to the both of them, and he quickly flipping through the few pages for any last glance that could possibly save him from a night full of anxiety. The closest thing that comes to it is what seems to be the most basic order of grilled pork that does nothing to calm Jooheon's nerves.

"So, I was thinking," Minhyuk obliviously starts once the waiter takes their menus and disappears into the next room, "after this, we can go bike riding. There's a rental joint not too far off. We can ride through the forest for an hour or so. We'll probably be hungry after that, so I found a popular café nearby that apparently has really good bingsu. Oh, and we can stop for something to eat afterwards, maybe something quick. Sound okay?"

On the screen of Minhyuk's phone, he quickly swipes through the different locations to show Jooheon the names and few photos he's saved. Minhyuk thought this day through a lot more than Jooheon expected he would, almost as if it wasn't as spontaneous as his hyung tried to make it seem.

"Are you sure we'll be able to do all that before sunset?" Jooheon asks.

Minhyuk quickly ticks the few hours left on one hand. "Hm. Maybe? We can eat quickly and rent the bikes for one hour. Also, I brought an umbrella just in case we get caught in the rain."

The blue umbrella he flashes him (with a failed attempt to wiggle his eyebrows) seems pretty small for the both of them. Jooheon had left home without one, like an idiot, mostly from rushing and the other one-fourth from his head swarming with idiotic thoughts of spending the rest of the day with Minhyuk.

"It'll be fine." Minhyuk grins at him, setting the umbrella on the floor by their feet. "We're being happy right now. No worrying and negative thoughts are allowed."

"Is this a date?" Jooheon wonders.

The question comes impulsively, hence there's a slim chance Jooheon would ever let himself ask that after baking it in his mind. There's a tiny standing poster on the table of a sale that Minhyuk pushes down for some reason, maybe for something to do with his hands.

Nonchalantly—an _attempt_ at nonchalance—, Minhyuk rests his back into the chair. "So what if it is?"

"We're on our first date?" At the thought, Jooheon finds himself nearly falling shy again. "Assuming that there will be a second date."

Minhyuk laughs. He readjusts the sunglasses in his hair, pushing a hand through it before letting the shades pin his bangs back. "Your faith in us is already shaking?"

 _"Us?"_ Jooheon theoretically echoes, feigning shock. "Suddenly we're on a date, and we're an _'us'_ now too? I didn't know it was like that."

"You should've known it was like that when we kissed. Kisses mean something, you know?"

"They don't always mean something."

"Yes, they do," Minhyuk argues. He leans forward in his seat again, scrutinizing him. "What? You just go around kissing guys for no reason?"

"Why do you care?" Jooheon teases.

Minhyuk huffs a laugh at this. It seems that he'll continue the argument with him a bit more, laughing out loud and shooting playful glares at Jooheon from across the table, though he suddenly pushes his chair back and gets on his feet. "I'm going to get some water. Are you thirsty?"

Right. Water. Jooheon isn't sure why he hadn't thought to get a cup himself. He quickly nods and waits at the table while Minhyuk scurries off to find the water dispenser.

While Minhyuk's gone, the waiter returns, the boys' orders in hand. A gigantic tray of meat, perilla leaves, and an assortment of side dishes is placed in front of Jooheon. He quickly thanks the woman, then gets to work once the waiter disappears into another section. It's embarrassingly methodical by now. Jooheon briskly spreads two napkins on his lap, drops a few slices of meat inside of it along with a large spoonful of white rice.

Minhyuk returns as Jooheon's repositioning the meat in the plate, trying to make it appear as if he hadn't taken out anything. A small cup is placed by Jooheon's tray. "You started without me?" Minhyuk whines.

"You were taking too long." Jooheon innocently smiles and takes a slow slurp from the small bowl of soup in front of him.

"I just ran to the restroom for a bit. It barely felt like a minute." Minhyuk drops into his seat, eyes swimming in happiness at the large bowl still sizzling in front of him. Similar side dishes to Jooheon's circle it. "Wait, let me take a photo."

Jooheon sets down his utensils and pauses until Minhyuk finds the right angle, and then pockets his phone again with a wide smile. Minhyuk eagerly digs in afterwards, hands working rather quickly despite the steam that rises from the bowl.

"This is so good," Minhyuk gushes, mid-bite. "Here."

Before Jooheon can react, steaming chopsticks are in his face. He eyes the greasy glass noodles with Minhyuk and his damned smile patiently waiting behind it.

"Try it," he eggs on. Minhyuk blows roughly on the rising steam, hand cupped under the noodles. "Ah, it's dripping on me! Quickly!"

So, Jooheon eats it. His cheeks are big as he slowly chews, stomach churning. It is good, if he has to be honest, but Jooheon would rather spit it out onto the table. God, how he wants to spit this out. And he hates the fact that it wouldn't even matter by now. The calories have probably already absorbed.

"Good, right?" asks Minhyuk, this oblivious grin tugged on his face.

"Mm-hmm." Jooheon's mouth is too full to talk. He wipes the sauce from his lips into a different napkin, decides not to discreetly spit the food inside in fear of Minhyuk happening to notice. There isn't a chance to swallow before he's offered pickled radish next. Jooheon hesitantly accepts that too.

"Ah," Minhyuk happily sighs to himself, "I was so hungry."

It's then that Jooheon is struck with an idea. He grabs a perilla leaf, fills it a little too generously with rice and meat and carefully tops it off with a dab of sauce. "Try this," Jooheon instructs.

Minhyuk opens his mouth without a second thought. After, Jooheon fills another perilla leaf, waits until Minhyuk has nearly swallowed it all before shoving in another mouthful. He likes the way Minhyuk's eyes become doe-like, his full cheeks quickly bobbing as he chews. It's satisfying, as if Jooheon is the one eating himself.

A muffled laugh leaves Minhyuk's mouth suddenly. He swallows, swirling his chopsticks in his bowl and flicking a pink tongue over his mouth. "People must think we're a real couple."

Jooheon chuckles. He starts preparing another leaf to feed Minhyuk, but he's barely placed the meat inside when he's offered more of Minhyuk's food. It goes back and forth continuously, until Minhyuk is thoughtlessly eating from Jooheon's plate. It's what Jooheon wanted, in a way, but if only that plan didn't come back to bite him in the ass with how many times Minhyuk feeds him in reciprocation, even going as far as adding some of his own food to Jooheon's tray.

There's no excuse to not eat it. At least no excuse that's believable. It seems ungrateful anyway, with how Minhyuk looks at him fondly, happy to take care of him. Jooheon wouldn't be able to decline without the remorse being insufferable.

By the time their bowls and plates are nearly scraped clean, Jooheon's stomach is full. Minhyuk happily takes the last perilla leaf from his tray, helping himself to the remnants of the various side dishes that Jooheon had played around in, sometimes dropping it into his lap when Minhyuk looks down.

"I'll pay." Minhyuk waves a credit hard in between his fingers after downing the rest of his water. "Are you finished?"

Jooheon hums. When he doesn't stand to follow Minhyuk back to the lobby, the boy pauses, curiously looks back at Jooheon glued to his chair. "Oh," Jooheon stupidly utters, "I'm going to head to the restroom really quickly. Wait for me outside?"

There's no window in the restroom. Not that Jooheon would try climbing out of one again, but he at least could have had the option.

It's stuffy. Too stuffy and too dark and Jooheon can already feel the nausea kicking in, overpowering him as he paces back and forth. 

_Calm down. Calm down. You're okay._

His fingers trace his collarbone subconsciously, tapping the outline of bone. He tries comforting himself with any distraction he can find. Thinks of the succulents on the toilets, how the restroom is small, how the light flickers every few seconds, while inwardly chanting to himself that the worst part is over.

There's only one stall in the restroom. The door was left wide open, and he can't help how often his eyes dart there where the succulent sits on the toilet with a French quote carved in a wooden square, as if anyone taking a shit would need French encouragement.

The thing is, he's trying to stop. Even if the convenience is tempting and there's something oddly cathartic and invigorating about puking, he knows he needs to put an end to it. It leaves him light-headed and bloated each time, which pretty much defeats the purpose.

Jooheon doesn't mean to look at the toilet too long, but he does nevertheless. His hand drags to his bicep then, where his arm is falling numb and his fingers still can't touch each other even when he squeezes, and he knows (he _knows_ ), he should really lay off the vomiting, but —

He can't take this anymore. 

Jooheon rushes into the stall, and instantly drops onto his knees. Somehow, it's harder than before and takes a few tries, but then he's loudly choking over the toilet bowl.

His throat is in flames. Damn those spicy glass noodles.

Admittedly, he's horrified and disappointed in himself, but it's too late now. Jooheon flushes the toilet and heads to the sink, hands quivering under the faucet. After he scrubs at his hands, he sips water from a cupped palm slowly, gargling it in his mouth, spitting it out. A man pushes into the restroom and obviously gives Jooheon strange glances all the way to the urinal.

It takes a few gargles before Jooheon can feel less gross. The feeling still stays there, though, as if the disgust is permanently stained on him. He splashes water on his face, pops two awfully strong breath mints in his mouth before going out to search for Minhyuk. 

"There you are," Minhyuk beams when Jooheon joins him at the door, voice still chirpy and upbeat. He takes Jooheon by the hand, and Jooheon is still in a daze that he doesn't get a chance to feel shy about it. "Are you feeling okay? Your face is puffy."

A smile spreads on Jooheon's mouth, reflexively, though Minhyuk's brows are nearly drawn together in concern. "My face always gets puffy when I eat noodles," he lies, rubbing a hand over one of his own dimpled cheeks. "Where are we off to next? The bike rental?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes!" Jooheon rolls his eyes, then flashes a devilish grin. "Race you."

He pushes Minhyuk before taking off down the street, for the sake of distracting him, and it works easily. Minhyuk runs behind, smiling widely with his bouncy hair wildly flapping with each step.

"Stop! I'm too full!" Minhyuk whines, clipping at Jooheon's heels. "Jooheon-ah! We just ate!"

They dart around, trying to outrun each other. Jooheon loves how carefree and wholeheartedly Minhyuk laughs, as if he's never felt the cold touch of sadness. Jooheon's eyes follow along when Minhyuk freely runs off once he's in the lead, and Jooheon doesn't know if he can ever forgive himself for all the times he has to lie to him.

+

There's not a set destination of where to bike, but Jooheon leads the way through the forest. It feels nice, the breeze rushing through him and birds chirping, with Minhyuk following closely behind. 

Minhyuk slides in by Jooheon's side. "You know what I said before?" he begins, vaguely.

There's more Jooheon anticipates from that, but Minhyuk only cycles beside him in silence. "When?"

"In the restaurant," Minhyuk elaborates, still vague. "The real couple thing."

"Kind of?" 

Minhyuk suddenly comes too close to Jooheon's front wheel. Jooheon yelps and quickly darts out of the way, wobblily starting onto a new path. That's about the third time Minhyuk has threateningly neared Jooheon's bike and caught him off balance. His careless laugh rings from behind him, and Jooheon contemplates turning around and running Minhyuk over. 

"You know what I mean," Minhyuk claims, even though Jooheon has no idea what he's supposed to know. Minhyuk appears at his side again, gently bobbing over the rise and fall of the path. "You and I as a couple. It isn't a crazy idea."

Jooheon has to re-gain control of the handles. He does remember then, how they did sort of seem like a real couple.

He can't find a response even after finding his balance, and as the two boys pedal down the trail in silence, Jooheon doesn't think he has one. If it were a few months ago, maybe whatever has happened between Minhyuk and him could have been a good idea, but now that Jooheon feels as if his life is falling apart, he isn't exactly sure how Minhyuk could fit in it.

He can't continuously lie to Minhyuk the way he does with everyone else in his life. It's already too much lying to his mother, and now he has to lie to Hyunwoo, too, the one person in his life who has always been patient and tried his best to understand him.

Jooheon stands on the pedals and shoots down the trail. Minhyuk easily speeds up to match him. 

"Oh, come on." Minhyuk is pouting. "What is it? Do you have commitment issues? Am I a bad kisser? Is me sitting down while I pee just too much of a deal breaker?"

A humored smile quirks at Jooheon's lips. "That is pretty weird."

"You obviously like me."

Jooheon scoffs. Is it that obvious? "I merely tolerate you."

"Tolerate?" Minhyuk echoes back to him. He chuckles. " _You_ kissed me."

That is true, even though Jooheon was clearly out of his mind. But the truth is that he liked Minhyuk's mouth. He misses it, and he routinely replays the way their mouths came together before he falls asleep. It becomes a small movie in his head that only plays the same clip of the two men messing up the red tint on Jooheon's lips, how easily Minhyuk slipped open his mouth and Jooheon could feel himself melting. All of it meant something.

They both brake at the end of the trail and face each other. 

"Is there...," Minhyuk searches for the word as he drops his feet to the ground and stands, "... something else?"

Jooheon freezes. There doesn't seem to be many ways to explain why he doesn't think he's good enough for him. Jooheon has all of these problems that he doesn’t understand, that would only escalate if someone else were intertwined in them.

(Someone like Minhyuk who’s unblemished and cares too much and could easily have anyone else if he wanted.)

Minhyuk doesn’t really know him is the thing. Every part of Jooheon has chipped away little by little, leaving him distressed and sad until that’s really the only thing he could think of to explain himself. It seems that anyone unaware of the obsessive thoughts in Jooheon's head, reiterating calorie counts and steps and leg lifts, knows nothing about him, and yet all that seems to be left of him is that one thing he doesn’t want anyone to know. If Minhyuk knew, then he’d understand why the idea of them is crazy, why all of this is such bad timing and Jooheon is merely a waste of his time.

“I don’t think I could be a good boyfriend right now,” Jooheon admits, cautiously. “Anyway, we have our own shit, you know?”

Before Jooheon can figure out whether or not his words were even half comprehensible, he starts back off into the street. A part of him fills with panic. He probably ruined whatever was between Minhyuk and him, even before there was really anything to ruin. 

He hears the sound of wheels behind him where Minhyuk is before he easily joins his side again. Minhyuk's lips are upturned, the playfulness easily reappearing. "Who knew you were such a pussy?"

Jooheon feigns offense. "Are you trying to bully me into being your boyfriend?"

"I don't know," Minhyuk smiles, and the sun flickers persimmon orange over his brown eyes. "Is it working?"

A smile fleetingly twitches on Jooheon's mouth, though they drop the topic and continue down the path. Jooheon's breath is already becoming ragged the more his legs pump.

Maybe he is a pussy, but in Jooheon's defense, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he hurt Minhyuk. Isn't that something a good person would do, protecting the ones they care about? There's already a lot on Minhyuk's plate. Adding Jooheon's own problems in the mix would only be selfish — assuming that Minhyuk wouldn't be too repulsed by them if he ever found out.

Which he never will.

 _"Oo!"_ Minhyuk suddenly points across the street. "Let's stop here for a second!"

There's not an opportunity to intervene before Minhyuk brakes in front of a small shop. Even if Jooheon doesn't recognize the name in the window of the old building, the scent rushes out as soon as an elderly man pushes open the door.

"My mom's friend works here," Minhyuk explains. He's already storing his bike and rushing towards the entrance where the man wobbles off to the tiny parking lot. Jooheon can feel the discomfort settling in his gut instantly, but he still follows after Minhyuk. The bell rings, announcing their arrival, and the two boys step into the hot, smoky air and the spicy smell of tteokbokki.

"Ahjumma!" Minhyuk yells. There's only two people sitting at the few tables arranged inside. A cheery old woman emerges from the kitchen almost instantly.

Jooheon awkwardly stands there, hands tucked away in his pockets, as Minhyuk is crushed into a hug. The two of them chat animatedly before Minhyuk pulls Jooheon closer to the both of them, snaking an arm over Jooheon's shoulders.

"This is my friend Jooheon," Minhyuk introduces. It confuses him the way Minhyuk beams at him, as if he's prideful in being able to introduce him. "I used to come here a lot when I was in the military. Ahjumma would always give my friends and me free kimbap, and we'd nearly eat the whole place out in minutes."

The woman instantly grins at the memory. "You boys just always looked so hungry. It broke my heart," she tells him, then shoots her bright smile at Jooheon when he bows. "You two are so adorable. Let me make you something before you go."

The apologetic _'we just ate'_ Jooheon utters is lost as she quickly disappears into the kitchen. Minhyuk excitedly ushers him to a table in the tight area of seating. Jooheon doesn't even know they've ended up here, eating again. It's barely been forty minutes since they rented their bikes. There's no way Jooheon can eat anymore.

Nevertheless, they're quickly served plates of tteokbokki and kimbap with a bowl of fish soup also slid onto the table. The two of them ring a chorus of thank yous, one audibly dryer than the other. Jooheon swears that he is thankful, but he can't keep his eyes from shaking at all the food arranged in front of them.

"On the house," she says sweetly, before she's quickly distracted with the bell chiming at the door. She chatters loudly with the new customer, but Jooheon's hearing fades, seemingly, staring at the bowl and plates. The smell hits him with the familiar wave of nausea.

"I love her," Minhyuk coos. He tears open a pair of chopsticks, gives a little happy dance as he snaps them apart. "The food is really good here too."

"Eat well," Jooheon tells him, quietly. Not that he needs to say anything. There seems to be a bottomless pit in Minhyuk's stomach. His hyung takes a big bite of tteokbokki and eagerly slurps the rice cakes into his mouth, feeding himself more before he can properly chew the first mouthful. He hums in between each bite merrily and wriggling his fists in glee.

Jooheon takes his own chopsticks out of the packaging, but he can only stare at Minhyuk. He envies him. That joy he has. People have so much happiness in food, and yet that same joy frightens Jooheon to his core. Sometimes, he wishes he could embrace that feeling. He wishes it didn't command him, wishes that it hadn't taken over every aspect of his life, made him into someone he can barely recognize. 

"You must have a lot of memories here," Jooheon says quietly, quickly rubs the chopsticks together in his palms. 

"I do! My friends and I would come here after noraebang just ravenous as hell. We'd eat _way_ too much, but she always accepted us in so eagerly, even though we were loud and boisterous and, oh yeah, kind of drunk." Minhyuk laughs at himself, shaking his head at the memory as he shoves a roll of kimbap in his mouth. "I used to be so careless."

Jooheon smiles. He cups a hand under his chin. "I'm trying to imagine you drunk."

"Just think of me ten times more hyper. And _loud._ "

"Louder, you mean?" asks Jooheon with this playful tug of his lips.

Minhyuk gently pushes him, the corner of his mouth stretched upwards. "Shut up," he says, and he gets more with these loud, messy slurps. "This is really good, by the way. You should try it."

Jooheon does — before he can think about it. The amount of chews gives him enough time to regret it, but he misses the taste too much to stop. Even with how uncomfortable he feels, his hand reaches to take another bite.

"This is delicious," he utters in a mouthful.

"Right?"

But Jooheon hates when this happens, when the temptation wins. Minhyuk sets down his chopsticks after a while, but Jooheon has already started, so he can't stop. He finishes all the tteokbokki, drenches kimbap in his soup and shovels it in his mouth roll after roll. He ends up swallowing down the rest of his soup in the bowl before his stomach feels wide and swollen in his shirt and the regret sits too heavy. 

"Done?" Minhyuk smiles at him.

Jooheon nods, pats his belly in an attempt to come off content. "Is there a restroom here?"

Upstairs, he finds his face over the toilet again. The spiciness of tteokbokki burns in his throat and his nose. Sweat beads on his forehead.

Somehow, in this gruesome moment, he finds himself thinking of the first time he saw Minhyuk. It's still baffling how Minhyuk found anything interesting in him. Maybe Jooheon really is difficult to read, or Minhyuk just has a bad sense of judgment when he's around Jooheon, thinks there's more to him than there really is. Jooheon doesn't know how he left off such a false impression. If Minhyuk saw him now, he'd probably change his mind about him instantly. The thought terrifies him. 

He breathes heavily as he stands, head slightly spinning. When he gets downstairs again, he expertly fakes a close-mouthed smile, sucking on the two mints in his mouth. Minhyuk grins and wraps an arm around his shoulder, the two boys bidding their goodbyes to the owner before idly sitting on the bikes outside.

"Is our hour almost up?" Jooheon asks. 

Minhyuk glances at the screen of his phone, then nods. "We have to go quickly if we want to make it in time. Race you!"

Jooheon watches him take off into the forest with barely a warning. He laughs to himself and freely pedals after him.

It's embarrassing how the day continues to repeat itself. They end up stopping at a vendor for tanghulu—Minhyuk's idea, of course, but mostly from the way the salesperson pressures them into it once Minhyuk lifts his phone for a picture. Jooheon crunches on half of the strawberries, because he just can't help himself, then ducks into a nearby café to go to the restroom. After their stop for bingsu, the bowl filled with too much fruit and syrup and crushed cookies, Jooheon ends up with his face hovering over the toilet again.

He's shaky and light-headed with his fingers down his throat. Absently, he chomps his teeth down on his knuckles too hard, and a shudder rips through his body. His head throbs as he wipes his mouth into the only thin sheet of toilet paper left in the dispenser.

How did it get to this?

Only a few months ago Jooheon felt as if he had this eating issue all figured out. This _thing_ never came to this point, because it never needed to. For a second, he can see the bewilderment on Hyunwoo's face again. It flashes in his mind as quickly as it leaves, and he wants to scream out loud, to kick the toilet paper dispenser until it breaks because it's too much and the hate for himself is starting to deepen. 

He stands, having to balance himself with the stall door. His body is so weak it feels as if it doesn't belong to him. When Jooheon throws open the stall door, he instantly freezes.

"Oh." His voice brushes past his lips in a pathetic rasp. "Hyung."

"Are you sick?" Minhyuk is frowning. His brows are drawn together, worry pooled in his eyes similarly to the way he looked at Jooheon earlier today.

"I'm —" Jooheon's mouth is completely dry. "No. I'm okay. No — well, yes, I'm sick, but I'm fine. Just a little nauseous."

He tries choking out a painfully awkward laugh to somehow ease the sudden tension between them, but Minhyuk still studies him with those concerned beagle eyes. "That didn't sound like 'a little' to me," he says. "Are you all right? You don't look well."

"I feel like I should be offended."

Minhyuk doesn't crack a smile. He flattens his palm on Jooheon's forehead, already distracted. "Your face is red," he notes. "What if it's food poisoning? Come on, we should go to the hospital." 

_"No!"_ Jooheon hears panic scratch in his voice and quickly composes himself, lowering it. "I'm fine, hyung. My stomach is just... really sensitive. Calm down. You worry more than my mom."

Briefly, Minhyuk pauses to scrutinize him. It's unsure whatever thought crosses his mind in that moment, which just might have filled Jooheon's chest with even more anxiety, more than he thinks he can handle after belching all the energy from his body. Minhyuk's eyes are fleetingly unreadable, though Jooheon has a feeling it's a tell of how much his words lacked believability. The thought of Minhyuk being able to look right through him and see how much of a mess he is makes the mere act of breathing feel a bit more laborious than before. 

(If only this restroom had a window.)

"Come here," Minhyuk says suddenly.

Jooheon lets Minhyuk lead him to the sink where unsurprisingly only a single paper towel is also left in the dispenser. Jooheon watches wordlessly as Minhyuk wets the towel and pushes Jooheon's hair from his face. The damp touch feels cool on his skin. Minhyuk dabs the paper towel softly over his forehead, gentle and soothing, and maybe it's been too long since Jooheon has been touched, or paid attention to, but as his face relaxes with each touch, he can't help the fleeting, strange thought that right now he feels special.

It's embarrassing how much Jooheon likes how Minhyuk's hand fits in his hair, likes how soft and careful he is with him as if he's afraid of patting Jooheon's skin too roughly. 

"Let's get you home, okay?" Minhyuk says after a while, and when Jooheon flutters his eyes opened and realizes how his chin sits nestled in Minhyuk's hand, he knows his face burning a bright red again just defeats the purpose. This time, for other reasons. 

"Okay," Jooheon whispers.

+

Orange stretches over the sky as the dwindling sun disappears in the skyline. Jooheon watches the city from the bus window, all the colors and people blending and blurring there.

He isn't sure how he can ever forgive himself for bringing their night to an end like this. None of this would have happened if he were normal —

Jooheon rubs a hand over his face, lets his head fall back onto the chair. 

Minhyuk is playing a game on his phone, two thumbs flying rapidly over the screen. He glances at Jooheon and turns slightly in the chair so he can completely face him. "You can lie your head down if you're tired."

"Like, on your shoulder?" Jooheon asks, curiously flicking his eyes over to him.

Minhyuk hums, drops his phone on his lap. "Don't sound so repulsed. People say I have really nice shoulders."

Jooheon snorts. "Who?"

 _"People."_ Minhyuk picks up his phone again, feigning offense with his chin nearly touching his chest. "Never mind. My shoulder is off the table."

"I was joking," Jooheon laughs.

"Nope," Minhyuk says, defensive, though his voice is still teasing and playful, "I've revoked my shoulder privileges."

Jooheon exhales a quiet chuckle. He picks up his head from the seat and watches Minhyuk's face. He likes how playful they can be with each other, but Jooheon can't help feeling as if he's annoying too. His head does that to him, sometimes, even when he knows it's not that deep.

"Thank you for taking care of me," Jooheon decides to tell him. There's still a scratch in his throat that makes his voice crack.

Minhyuk only glances at him, but there's a ghost of a smile on his lips. He grabs Jooheon's hand suddenly, fingers intertwining on Minhyuk's lap. Jooheon doesn't push it away.

At the bus stop, they find themselves in an inexplicable silence with the day at the end. Jooheon wishes they had more time together, but he also thinks he needs some time at home by himself. Time to figure out his thoughts and sort out what the hell went wrong today. 

"I had fun today," Minhyuk beams. He passes Jooheon's electric fan into his hand, powered off. It's probably nearly dead with how many times Minhyuk pulled it out throughout the day, a content sigh falling from his lips at the cool air rushing from it.

"I had fun today, too," Jooheon admits — besides the obvious parts.

There were a lot of good moments throughout the day despite what happened in the restroom, and maybe they could have shared more if it weren't for Jooheon's stupid obsession and his unbearable thoughts attacking him relentlessly. 

"Does your stomach feel better?"

There's a second that Jooheon stares at him blankly, but it all returns to him, the lie he told him, the reason why they'd even hopped on the bus. "Oh, yeah," Jooheon replies, quickly. "Much better. Thank you, hyung."

Minhyuk smooths the stray strands of Jooheon's hair with this fond smile playing at his lips. It's then that Jooheon hears the pitter-patter over the shelter of the stop. It's soft first, slow and soothing, before the drop quickly intensifies and vehemently pounds on the roof. Umbrellas fly up in a splurge of colors, people darting through the street to escape the downpour.

"We still didn't beat the rain," Minhyuk chuckles. He slips out of his backpack and looks inside, and Jooheon notices the panic that suddenly wipes on Minhyuk's face before he's ripping over every compartment, frantically searching inside. "Fuck! My umbrella!"

"What?"

"It's gone!" Minhyuk rips open the larger compartment again. He squats, setting down earphones, empty and crumbled chip bags, and a Polaroid camera onto the concrete. "I brought it with me, right?"

"Right." Jooheon lowers to floor with him. "You showed it to me, I remember."

"Where?"

"At the restaurant."

Minhyuk furrows his brows, tries to think. When it dawns on him, it shows on his face. It falls first, before he frowns, lowly groaning. "I left it on the floor, didn't I? I'm a dumbass with legs."

"No, it's okay. We can just wait it out?"

Consequently, the sky fills with light and cracks viciously in the evening sky. Jooheon rips out a scream. He doesn't realize at first that he squats to the ground impulsively, cuddling himself into Minhyuk's side, until the world falls a little quiet again and he can hear Minhyuk's soft exhale.

"Uh," Jooheon breathes, "sorry."

Though, he doesn't scramble away from Minhyuk. Maybe somewhere in his mind — a different reality in which he isn't terrified of thunder and doesn't feel comforted with his body pressed into Minhyuk's side.

"How far is your place from here?" Minhyuk asks, unbothered. He's already zipping his belongings away, hands rushed. 

"It's only a bit of a walk," Jooheon tells him. "We'll just have to really make a run for it."

When the two of them stand, Jooheon pulls off his jacket. He hopes, if anything, that Minhyuk doesn't notice his arms, but he quickly pushes the thought away, fussing at himself that this isn't the time to be worrying about that.

The two of them duck under the bomber jacket as well as they can. 

"Ready?" asks Minhyuk.

Jooheon tightens his hands on the jacket. He looks at Minhyuk, their faces way too close for comfort, and hesitantly nods.

The two of them sprint from under the shelter, and the jacket is nothing short of a loss cause. As soon as it's met with the pounding raindrops and harsh gusts of wind, it flies wildly around them while they fly through the street. They're huddled together with the rain pouring down around them—probably an awfully humorous sight—splashing in the upcoming puddles and wetting their ankles.

Jooheon can't really see. They trip over each other's feet a few times, laughs a soft thump blurring together, as they dart down the trail of Jooheon's apartment complex. 

They dart into the lobby, all harsh breaths and soaked, squeaking shoes. The jacket is soaked, along with every other crevice of Jooheon's body. He drops his hands to knees, panting, with Minhyuk struggling to catch his breath beside him. Jooheon's hair seems melted to his face, raindrops dripping from the tips of his inky strands.

Thunder claps once again, and Jooheon finds himself, out of breath, helplessly scrambling into Minhyuk's side.

"You're a baby," Minhyuk wheezes. A smile licks on his lips, and Jooheon isn't sure if he wants to slap or kiss it off him. He brings a hand to rest on Jooheon's shoulder, squeezing him gently. Everything feels sticky. "Don't worry. Hyung will protect you from the scary thunder."

Jooheon flings his drenched jacket at him, though he can't stifle a laugh.

Their footsteps leave prints as they noisily shuffle to the elevator. Jooheon is grateful his mom decided to stay out late once again tonight as they step into his apartment, water trickling all over the floor. He instantly kicks out of his shoes, peeling his disgustingly drenched socks off his feet. There should have been more thought that went in on Jooheon's part, like not wearing socks and sneakers on a forecasted rainy day, but he always lets his guard down too easily after monsoon season ends.

"Okay," Jooheon starts after a few quick breaths, pushing a hand through his stringy hair, "I guess I should grab you some clothes? Wait right there until I come back."

Water trails behind Jooheon in drops. He grabs a faded tee shirt and joggers from the dresser in his room, unsure if his clothes could even fit Minhyuk's slender frame, and rushes back to where his hyung still stands at the door. He's awkwardly glancing around the living room area from curiosity, obediently unmoving.

"Here you go." Jooheon hands the clothes to him and points towards the opened door beside his bedroom. "You can shower there. The towels and washcloths are in the cabinet above the toilet. If there isn't soap in the shower, it should be in the cabinet above the toilet."

"Thank you! You are an angel." Minhyuk flattens a hand over Jooheon's scattered hair before hurriedly disappearing behind the door. With the way he runs in, it seems like a failed attempt to not fling more water onto the floor. 

Jooheon sighs at the puddles surrounding him. He's going to be left with a lot to wipe up before his mom comes back home.

By the time he walks out of the toilet in his mom's room, Minhyuk is already sitting on the couch. The items in his backpack are scattered across the floor, some wet, though his Polaroid camera seems to have been able to battle through the storm unscathed.

"Everything good?" Jooheon flicks on the TV and drops a hair dryer on the couch beside him, but Minhyuk doesn't bother reaching for it.

"Yes, thank God. I forgot my AirPods were in here," Minhyuk says, slipping them back into a silicone, black case. "If they got damaged, I would have had to sell myself."

Jooheon chokes out a quiet laugh. "That would be your only option?"

"In that case, probably," he replies with barely any further contemplation.

Their wet clothes hang from the clothes rack on the balcony. The sky is is stone grey and inkily dismal from the view, the rain still beating visciously on the roof with the trees tossing wildly in the wind. Jooheon plugs in the living room fan and drags it across the room to directly face the couch. He smiles at Minhyuk for no particular reason, plops onto the floor by his feet.

"Are you thirsty?" Jooheon asks. Minhyuk hums in response. "There's a water dispenser in the kitchen."

"You're going to make me get up and get it myself?"

"I'm not your slave."

Minhyuk stands up, sighing dramatically. "This guy," he murmurs to himself.

"I'm joking!" Jooheon snatches his hand before he can think about it. His first instinct is to let go, but it feels natural at this point, their small exchanges of affection, that he decides to keep his palm there. "I'll get it for you."

"Forget it. I'm already up." Minhyuk drops his hand (and Jooheon swears he doesn't immediately long for the warmth to return) before plodding into the kitchen, dragging his feet like a little kid. He shouts behind himself, "You better be glad you got sick earlier, or else I'd hurt your feelings."

"You can get something out of the fridge to make up for it," Jooheon tells him with an airy laugh that stings his throat, "but don't touch my almond milk."

"I can assure you I don't want your almond milk, Lee Jooheon."

When Minhyuk returns, he has a full glass of water in one hand and a bottled sports drink in the other. He plops onto the floor beside him instead of the couch, and to Jooheon's surprise, hands the bottle to him. "Sip on this. You could be dehydrated."

Jooheon takes his advice. His tongue feels like paper. Slowly, he sips from the bottle, watching the oasis of rain from the clear balcony doors and definitely not noticing how Minhyuk's Adam's apple bobs as he downs his glass of water.

Jooheon stretches his legs across the floor. "I guess you're stuck here with me until the rain dies down."

"Guess so." Minhyuk smiles at him and laces his fingers through his own hair, now messy and drying in fluffy tufts. "I don't mind, though. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing right now."

It's an easy way to send a flutter to Jooheon's heart. He grins, pathetically, and ducks his head to pretend there's something interesting on his sock. It seems like sitting here with Minhyuk on his floor and the older boy beaming at him like Jooheon is free of flaws shouldn't be happening.

Jooheon scoots closer to him, hesitantly, testing the feel of each centimeter he's brought closer to Minhyuk and pretends he's deserving of comfort and affection and deserving of a boy who holds his heart open so easily as he presses himself into Minhyuk's side and rests his head on his shoulder. It feels natural, even as Jooheon's heart thumps chaotically at the fact he's so close to him.

Minhyuk stretches an arm to wrap around Jooheon, and the younger boy easily softens against his warm body like they've shared this exact moment before.

Jooheon's eyes flutter closed. He listens to the light sounds of the TV, the rhythm of the rain, and each inhale and exhale of Minhyuk's soft breaths.

+

Jooheon is becoming negligent. He thinks it always happens, eventually, when he's preoccupied and has a regular schedule again — two classes every weekday, job hunting for the other half, studying in his room for the last half — days start blurring together, his tiredness sets in longer, his thoughts become shorter. 

His mom looks at him, perplexed, when she comes out of his room one day and stops him from vacuuming the living room. It always fills him with panic when she goes into his room, tidying up and complaining about having to take his laundry basket to the washer no matter how many times Jooheon tells her he rather clean his room himself. Usually, he panics for nothing, but this time she has a plastic bag in hand that she pulls open for Jooheon to curiously peer inside.

"Look what I found under your bed," she explains.

A grimace instantly tugs on his face as he shoots away from the two slices of seemingly rock-hard toast. He has no idea what magical brand of bakery bread they bought that hadn't molded the two slices to oblivion by now, but he doesn't spend much time to think about it before trying to rack his memories for when he could have put this bread under his bed and somehow entirely forgot about it. He'd most likely taken it into his room to make his mom think he was eating it. That's a typical Sunday. The only problem is that he usually remembers to throw it out by garbage day.

"So that's where my toast went," Jooheon says, stupidly.

She shakes her head at him. "Why would you put toast under your mattress?"

"It's not a bad midnight snack."

Unsurprisingly, his mom doesn't understand that that was supposed to be joke. She murmurs something intelligible under her breath, a tinge of disgust visible on her face, before lastly ordering, "Stop putting food under your bed, Jooheon-ah."

Later, Jooheon frantically searches through his room. There are three dried and molded dumplings in one of the dirty socks in his hamper. It brings him back to a few weeks ago when he tossed two dumplings off the balcony like tiny frisbees and nearly hit the hood of someone's car, before stuffing the other three, steaming dumplings in his pocket to bring back to his room.

(Just the memory brings back the painful sting on his poor thigh.)

Searching through his room is like re-opening buried memories. By the end of it, he only ends up finding a half-eaten, not-so-chewy granola bar behind a stack of graphic novels on his shelf and a neglected kkwabaegi in his underwear drawer, completely solid. It must have been a month or two since he placed those there, but he's unsure of the timeframe.

He's only sure of the fact he's becoming awful at remembering to throw food away, and once he comes across the brown bag of puke hidden in the corner of his closet, he thinks he's becoming awful at just remembering in general.

As the week goes by, his mom notices two times that the scale is in his restroom instead of the hallway where it's perceivably untouched. Jooheon has always been careful with placing the scale back — not that he expects his mom to actually notice the difference. Apparently, he's a forgetful idiot with bad judgement.

"Is it necessary to weigh yourself this much?" his mom asks him when she's carrying the scale out of his restroom for the fourth time. At the sight of it, Jooheon's heart rate picks up and thumps aggressively behind his chest. He doesn't know what he's scared of most: his mom catching him far too many times and possibly having the chance to think too deeply into its misplacement, or the chance of her hiding the scale away from him. "You're just going to be the same weight you were at the beginning of the week as you are at the end."

Jooheon thinks of the fact he gained three kilograms just last week, and knows that isn't true. Fact-checking is suspicious, more suspicious than finding a scale in his restroom so often, so he doesn't say anything.

"What, are you scared you're going to gain weight?" she asks then, breaking the awkward silence. Jooheon doesn't miss the way she laughs slightly as it passes her lips, as if the idea of Jooheon worrying about his weight is absurd. It bothers him. He's not sure why, but it leaves his mind entirely blank of a coherent response.

He finds himself stuttering.

He thinks, first, he could just formulate a story for why the scale ends up there so often. Sometimes, Jooheon is good at that. In fake universes he's eaten big meals at the restaurants near their apartment complex before coming back home, went with Hyungwon to his house after classes where Hyungwon's mother cooked extra food just for Jooheon to eat, and went out with his classmates who were nice enough to pay for his meal. The possibilities are endless. The only thing is, thinking of a believable fabrication in under 0.012 seconds takes some talent that Jooheon's slowing brain just doesn't have these days. His current two options are blaming it on a ghost, or just admitting that he weighs himself too often.

"I don't weigh myself _that_ much."

How fucking stupid of a reply.

"It's always in your restroom," his mom counters. She sets the scale on the floor, in the corner of the hallway where it always sits, and Jooheon exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "You've lost a lot of weight. I guess you've been keeping track of it, right?"

Panic shoots through him once again. Jooheon thinks over her words, stammers, "Not really."

"Is it just unintentional then?" She briefly looks over the assignment he has opened on his laptop, absently fixes one of his stray strands of hair. "It's okay if you're stressed. I hope you know you can tell me."

"I know." He tries a smile. Hearing that comforts him, genuinely, but he knows her words aren't as true as she thinks. There are just some things he isn't sure she would understand, and he doesn't want to hear, _'Just eat'_ for the rest of his life.

She reciprocates his smile, continuing to lay down his tousled hair and brushing off a lightweight strand that trickles onto his shoulder. Jooheon doesn't realize she's scrutinizing his face until he finally peels his eyes away from the screen of his laptop and looks up at her. "I knew you'd grow out of your cheeks some day. Look at you, all grown-up."

Jooheon awkwardly chuckles. "You still say that like I'm not already grown up."

"I'll probably say it again when you're forty-one," she tells him, jokingly, though Jooheon is pretty sure she'll reiterate it next year, if not in the next five months.

It should be easier to hear comments about him losing weight by now. It brings a weird feeling, something like unease and satisfaction, a concoction that seemingly doesn't mix. It had taken enough time learning how to properly react to his classmates' praise on his weight loss after returning to school for fall semester. Every conversation starter fell between an astonished, 'Woah, you look really good!' and 'How did you lose weight so fast?' Apparently, no one cares to talk about anything else, which is fine since Jooheon has been up to nothing else for the last two months.

He expected no one to notice. It's an awkwardly nice surprise that so many people did. This was always a secret fantasy of his, being unseen for months and coming back a better version of himself like the protagonist of a cliché drama. Now that he's experiencing it, the moment is a bit surreal — and terrifying. 

"You're my youngest, anyway," his mom continues, and Jooheon zones back in, remembering they were in the middle of a conversation. "No matter how much you grow up, you're always going to be a baby."

"Unfortunately," Jooheon playfully grumbles.

It's a joke, secretly. He likes the reminder.

Even after being caught by his mom, Jooheon still thinks Minhyuk raises his anxiety the most. The "sixth sense" thing was nothing short of an exaggeration, but Jooheon's pattern of negligence leaves him with paranoia that ignites each nerve instantaneously whenever Minhyuk looks him over, or mentions that he's starting to look a little different now.

Jooheon panickily recites all this to Hyungwon over coffee. He's already on his second iced americano by now, talking way too fast in the back of their school café. He never realized that his hands were so necessary to get a point across, until this moment, hands seemingly important for every scenario he brings up confessing his constant worry.

"Every second I feel like another hinge is loose, you know?" he is telling Hyungwon from across the table. "One moment, I have to worry about Minhyuk figuring me out, then it's my mom, who's always trying to pick up after me, then I think about how I've been ignoring Hyunwoo hyung for months, and there are so many chances for him to tell my mom, and I'll have to think of a whole story to get her off my case."

His hands are wild again, brushing through his hair, waving in the air for emphasis, picking up his cup over and over and over again, sometimes just to solely have something solid to hold in his hands.

"I feel crazy," Jooheon sighs, and it's shaky when he falls from his mouth. "Well, I am crazy, right? I'm paranoid all the time, and then there's food taunting me every second. It's always just there, waiting for me to eat it."

He takes a sip of his americano, sighs deeply once again. He notices Hyungwon is staring at him with no expression, eyes glossed over. Matter of fact, Jooheon realizes his friend has been entirely silent for the past forty-five minutes.

"I have a feeling you tuned me out," says Jooheon.

Hyungwon blinks at him. "Oh. Sorry."

Jooheon furrows his brows. He takes the last sip of his americano and glances at the empty glass, ice cubes huddled together, in disappointment before finally setting it down.

He thought it was just his paranoia that made Hyungwon's short responses and unfocused eyes come off as odd, but now he thinks it wasn't an exaggeration. The two men usually bounce their thoughts off each other, talking about their fears and updating each other on their eating behaviors, even though he's used to Hyungwon spacing out on him by now. It's different.

Jooheon wonders if he's being annoying. It's been months since they have really sat down together, even today where they crossed paths on campus merely being a coincidence, and now Jooheon is being selfish, only talking about himself.

"Are you okay?" Jooheon finally asks.

"Yeah," Hyungwon responds, lips twitching with something like an attempt of a smile. A small breath of air immediately crosses his lips. "Sorry, I'm just a little out of it. I don't mind you venting."

"No, talk to me. What's up?" Jooheon's eyes find his own glass again. Still empty. He's once again met with disappointment. 

Hyungwon stays silent for a few minutes, and Jooheon knows not to interrupt whatever thoughts are floating in his hyung's head. He doesn't understand Hyungwon's hesitance, or how hollow he seems, and admittedly, all of this scares Jooheon.

Jooheon finds himself pinching at his own wrist now that there's nothing else that his fidgety fingers can touch, waiting for Hyungwon in an uncomfortable anticipation.

"Lately —" Hyungwon starts, and he avoids Jooheon's eyes, instead staring at the full cup that's been left untouched in front of him. "Lately, I'm just tired. And drained."

"Oh." Jooheon fleetingly contemplates his words. "Do you know what's up, like is it about eating, or —"

"It's always about eating." Hyungwon's voice leaves his mouth so tiny, but it's angry, his hand sitting on the table as a weak fist. "Everything in my life is about eating. I'm tired of it."

Jooheon doesn't mean to only blink back at him in silence, but he doesn't know what to say. He can see Hyungwon's frustration, how his fist slightly shakes, how he keeps blinking and blinking like he's fighting away tears. Jooheon is stunned at the realization he doesn't think he's ever seen his hyung cry before.

"I've been thinking about recovering," Hyungwon tells him then, looking into the face of his cup of tea. 

"Oh." Jooheon wishes he could think of some other forms of dialogue, but his brain is lagging. He tries a smile. "That's great, hyung."

"But I don't know," Hyungwon quickly follows. "Sometimes I just want to eat without the guilt. Like, yesterday I ate two gummies. I thought I was fine, but then I really thought about it, and it triggered an hour long panic attack. It just shouldn't have to feel so bad to eat gummies."

"It shouldn't," Jooheon agrees, quietly.

"I keep thinking about how this dumb disorder has taken away so much from me," he utters. His eyes are still glossy and unfocused. "And after my brother came to visit for Chuseok, I just felt so much pain looking at my nephew. He's so adorable, and he makes the family so happy. I feel like I want to die, because I'll never know what it's like to have a baby that's mine. I let this disorder ruin it, and everything else."

Hyungwon suddenly sniffs, jerks his chin up to stare at the ceiling. His eyes are watery under the light as he does the best he can to blink away the tears threatening to fall free from his eyes, and Jooheon feels small and helpless.

His throat is tight, like any second it will close up on him. "I had no idea," Jooheon utters, stupidly. "I'm sorry, hyung."

"It's okay." He only looks at Jooheon again after he's successfully avoided crying. "I think I needed a wake up call. I want my life back. There are so many things I could be doing, and I can't do them if I'm in the hospital all the time. Or dead."

"You're not going to die," Jooheon interjects, voice stern. 

"Yeah, not now. If I keep fucking around, then it's not impossible. It's more than possible, anyway. You could die, too."

Jooheon laughs, uncomfortably, pinches his own wrist even harder. The fact that Hyungwon would even say something like that is mortifying. Of course Jooheon knows it happens, but he's not as sick as Hyungwon. He never has been. The least of his worries is two gummies when if it were his case, he would probably devour the whole damn bag in one mouthful.

"You don't think you could die?" Hyungwon continues, voice still quiet. "If you don't change, it'll get worse. You're going to feel more tired. You're going to slow down more. The more you binge and restrict and over-exercise, you're going to push your body until it can't take it anymore."

"You've been clearly watching a lot of informational videos." Jooheon chokes out a laugh again, though he feels himself inwardly recoiling the more Hyungwon speaks.

Jooheon doesn't know what the hell has gotten into his friend. One second Hyungwon's crying over gummy bears, and now he's suddenly rambling monotonously about death. Maybe he was better staring off into the distance. 

"You're not invincible, you know," Hyungwon tells him, and he looks so tired and defeated with his lids droopy and dark circles under his eyes. "Isn't that scary?" 

"No one is invincible," argues Jooheon. "Can you calm down now? You're freaking me out."

Hyungwon rests back in his chair, crosses his arms. It's uncertain, but he seems annoyed with Jooheon. Yeah, Jooheon could have handled that a little better, but there aren't a lot of ways to respond to someone claiming that his body will give out. 

At the thought, Jooheon shakes his head. He looks into the face of the glass in front of him. He needs more coffee.

When Jooheon stands, it feels like the world slows, then stops. His head rushes with heat. He stumbles back and falls into the chair again. His limbs are weak, and a thick wave of nausea hits him suddenly, swallows him whole.

"Shit. Jooheon-ah." Hyungwon quickly rushes over to the other side of the table. "Are you okay?"

Jooheon thinks that if he responds, he'll throw up. Something behind his eyes hurt. He blinks, hard, trying to recollect his thoughts. What the hell just happened?

"Give me a second," Hyungwon speaks wide-eyed and panicked, "I'll buy you a juice." 

"I'm good." Jooheon grips his hyung by the shoulder before there's a chance for him to scramble away. Jooheon decides to stand up again, slowly this time, despite Hyungwon's protests. His temples are still throbbing, but it's nothing more than what he's used to. "I'm fine. I should head out, anyway."

Hyungwon's eyes are wide. "You need to sit down."

Jooheon knows he should listen to him, (and maybe he should give Hyungwon an apology of some sorts,) but the overwhelming impulse to leave is too strong for him to think reasonably. He is still stepping away, looping one arm into the strap of his backpack with Hyungwon desperately following after him. 

"I'm fine," Jooheon says, again, mostly to himself.

"No, you're not."

Jooheon ignores him, even as Hyungwon continues to trail after him outside. The sun intensifies the throbbing in Jooheon's head. He squints and trudges on, trying his best to pretend Hyungwon isn't there. He doesn't know what he's done in his life to be given a friend like Hyungwon, but he suddenly feels burdened by how much his hyung cares about him.

Jooheon knows the way he treats his body isn't good. He thought Hyungwon, of all people, would get that. Out of all the jokes they've made together as if living like this isn't the most gut-wrenching thing, Hyungwon was the only one who got him, the only person he could speak to freely about his feelings and his habits, and not have to worry. Now it feels like that safety has been snatched from underneath him.

But this is good, though, right? He should be happy for Hyungwon, at least. Why is he so angry with him for snapping to his senses? Because he's now the only one who's a self-destructive dumbass?

Once he gets to the subway, Hyungwon stops. His eyes are sad and worried, and Jooheon can't properly look up at them without feeling sick with the thought he's probably the reason behind it.

"Are you heading home?" Hyungwon asks.

"Probably."

"Okay."

Hyungwon swallows, hard, and doesn't walk away like Jooheon thought he would. His eyes lower, fingers fiddling with the long sleeves of his shirt. Jooheon thinks that's the end of their conversation until Hyungwon fleetingly looks up at him again, nearly whispering.

"Joo, this shit is scary. I know you know, but I —" a shaky sigh escapes his mouth, "I just never thought it'd turn out this way for me. At first, I was just this quiet and shy guy in high school, and I wanted to disappear. And now it's been six years, and I've wasted all this time. I barely have any memories of high school by now."

There's an awkward feeling in the air, something that's separating them, wedging this large gap, and Jooheon can't ignore the fear crawling up in his throat.

"I keep going back, thinking I'll feel safer the less space I take up, but I don't think I have actually ever been safer," Hyungwon tells him, and there's something that scratches in his throat when he flicks his watery eyes to Jooheon. "All of it is an illusion. You should realize that."

Jooheon just settles on staring at his hands, because it's easier than watching how his friend's eyes shake. He doesn't think he's ever heard Hyungwon explain his disorder this way. They often share stories about the meals they've skipped and the weight they've lost, but it's never been like this. 

"It's just so scary, and —" Hyungwon stops suddenly, swallowing hard again. He rubs a hand at the side of his face and sighs shakily. "Jooheonie, I don't want you to disappear." 

He looks legitimately terrified, Jooheon realizes, and it terribly pinches at Jooheon's insides. He thinks he's perfectly fine. At least he _feels_ perfectly fine. Maybe Jooheon has never nearly blanked out like that before, and things may get out of hand from time to time, but for the most part, Jooheon is fine. He doesn't know how to explain this well, that this will never really be something beyond weird eating habits and a bad brain.

"I'm going to be okay," Jooheon decides on telling him. He pats Huyngwon's arm, feeling suffocated again suddenly. The gap between them is too far it barely feels like Jooheon is still standing in front of him. His hand drops by his side again eventually, and he awkwardly clears his throat. "I have to go now."

Hyungwon stiffly nods.

Jooheon leaves quickly, ignoring how his headache moves behind his eyes, and a misplaced energy carries him through the turntables as he rushes off.

Guilt sprouts in his stomach, comes up to burn his throat, growing angrily with each footstep. And even if Jooheon tries to fight the urge, he still finds himself kneeled in the subway restroom to throw it up.

+

"Is this good?"

There is already a smile pushing on Minhyuk's lips. He scurries from against the wall and takes his camera from Jooheon's hand, fringe dangling in his eyes as he peers over the small screen.

"Jooheon," he softly laughs, "it's out of focus again."

"Really?"

The two boys nearly knock heads when Jooheon looks down at the preview. Minhyuk is posing where a quote glows in pink neon letters on the wall, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The words are entirely fuzzed out so that Minhyuk is perfectly sharpened beside it, which misses the point, maybe, but Minhyuk does have his own way of outshining the neon wall. 

"I like it," Jooheon says.

"You said that about the last photo with me blinking," Minhyuk tells him. He quickly clicks through the other photos Jooheon had snapped of him by the wall. They aren't too bad considering Jooheon has no idea how to work an actual camera. An hour ago, figuring out how to even snap a photo was like trying to launch a spaceship. Now that Minhyuk had given him a quick tutorial on the buttons, Jooheon swears that he's nearly a professional, despite how out of focus his photos may be. He was too focused on Minhyuk to notice whether or not the quote was in focus.

"Isn't photography all about capturing real life?"

Minhyuk lets out another laugh, shakes his head. "Sure."

Minhyuk previews their other photos from today, a slideshow of the last few hours played backwards that Jooheon peers over, too. It's an assortment of random shots of Minhyuk standing by the wall of the themed clothing store, to the view from the window of their bus ride, to Minhyuk pulling funny faces with the accessories at a vendor, until it lastly reaches the beginning of Minhyuk and Jooheon's walk from the subway station, which are mostly just random snapshots of the passing neighborhood and surrounding bushes and trees. Jooheon still doesn't entirely understand what Minhyuk exactly found aesthetic about it. 

"Well, anyway," a smile licks over Minhyuk's lips, "I'll take your photo next."

Jooheon hopes it isn't too obvious how the question instinctively makes him stiffen. Apparently, hence the way Minhyuk immediately pouts, his sudden discomfort is just as visible as he hoped it wasn't.

"Come on, you never let me take photos of you," whines Minhyuk. 

"I'm not really a picture kind of guy."

Minhyuk narrows his eyes discerningly. "I should pull up your Instagram."

Only now Jooheon can see how the fact he posted a selfie of him at the gym yesterday doesn't really help his argument, but if it weren't for posting subtle bodychecks every few weeks, there's no other way he'd get validation now that his classmates have stopped bringing up his weight loss. "Instagram is different," Jooheon decides is his vague argument.

"How?"

Jooheon shrugs, frustrated. "It just is."

Minhyuk looks him over, then goes back to clicking through the same photos from today. "If I don't ever get a picture, people are going to start thinking I'm lying about knowing you. My friends already think I'm delusional."

This surely gets Jooheon's attention. He fleetingly lifts his brows, a cheeky smile pushing at his lips. "I didn't know you were talking to your friends about me now."

"Oh, shut up," Minhyuk chuckles, head shyly ducking, and Jooheon finds a sense of satisfaction in how his hyung's face blushes a soft shade of pink with it. "Are you not talking about me? Everyone you know should have heard about me by now."

"What would I have to talk about?" Jooheon asks while terribly failing to feign oblivion. It earns him a soft slap on the arm that he unflinchingly accepts with a small laugh.

They wander around the overcrowded store for a while longer so Minhyuk can snap more photos, although he easily gets distracted every other second and ends up handing it over to Jooheon. He makes a routine of finding an unfitting item from each clothing rack they pass, dangling it in front of his body for Jooheon to judge.

"Wouldn't I look good in this?" Minhyuk asks him. This time, it's a tiny, cropped tank top he presses to his chest that nearly sends Jooheon doubling over in laughter at the mere thought.

He pretends to seriously contemplate it before deciding, "I'd think so. If it could fit."

"It could fit," Minhyuk claims, and Jooheon is laughing too hard to stop him from trying to push his head into the tank top.

Minhyuk struggles with just the act of getting it around his neck, before trying to force an arm through one of the skinny straps. It's as if he's tangling himself in strings, and Jooheon is nearly brought to tears as he lifts Minhyuk's camera to take a photo. 

Minhyuk only gets half an arm squeezed inside before a visibly exasperated employee approaches them.

"Sir," she greets, lips pulling into a tight-lipped smile, "excuse me."

Jooheon has to stifle a laugh when Minhyuk slowly looks down at her. The way his eyes have widened almost perfectly resembles a deer in headlights. 

"If you'd like to try our items, then we advise you to utilize the dressing rooms provided," she tells him, voice forcibly amiable. "If not, then please refrain from wearing the items. Thank you."

Minhyuk untangles himself from the tank top and lowers his head. "Sorry," he murmurs.

She watches tentatively as he hangs the tank top back on the rack, and with a short nod, saunters off. They wait until she makes it out of earshot before bubbling with laughter, each attempt to quiet themselves awfully failing.

"That was scary," Minhyuk playfully whines. As they hurry to go to a different floor, somehow Minhyuk's hand ends up looped around Jooheon's arm. Jooheon only acknowledges the touch briefly before easily relaxing in having his hyung pressed closer to him. "I thought she was going to kick us out the store."

Jooheon thinks that may have been a better outcome than the tinge of second hand embarrassment he received from watching their interaction unfold, but the two boys are already in an unspoken agreement that they would much rather kick out themselves. They are still attached to each other by the time they make it outside, cutting through the swarm of people.

Jooheon thinks back to when they had their first date together, and wonders if they outwardly look like a couple again. The more he's around Minhyuk—letting him grab his hand and cuddle next to him, letting Minhyuk compliment him until his face succumbs and reddens to oblivion—the less scarier the idea of letting Minhyuk like him becomes.

He's grateful for Minhyuk's company, and he's grateful that he's growing closer to someone like Minhyuk who easily accepted Jooheon's invitation to hang out and didn't mind the lack of planning and reasoning. Jooheon needed to clear his head, badly. There doesn't seem to be anyone else who can lighten him so easily, fleetingly taking his mind off the panic he'd felt from eating over his calorie limit this morning, how all he can think of every other second is Hyungwon's sad eyes and how Jooheon is such an awful person that it cost him a relationship he held close to him.

The two boys plop down by on a nearby bench, and Jooheon has the chance to shake his thoughts away. He looks over to Minhyuk and hands back his camera, offering him a smile. "I think I'm finished being photographer," he tells him.

"You did well," Minhyuk lightly aughs. He's supposed to be sitting here to search for directions to the closest station, but Jooheon is happy that Minhyuk has forgotten about it, instead clicking through his camera and beaming at all the photos there.

"By the way," Jooheon hesitantly says, stretching out his legs, "maybe I'll let you take a picture of me one day."

This instantly intrigues Minhyuk. His attention is snapped away from his camera, smiling. "You promise?"

"Yeah." Jooheon already feels bad for saying that. It's an empty promise, but at least makes Minhyuk's smile grow until he's widely grinning at him. He guesses that's more important at the moment.

"Let's make a small negotiation for now," Minhyuk offers, which first sounds way too cunning. 

Jooheon squints. "I'm listening."

"Just give me one memento of you today." He waves the camera at him. Jooheon looks over it uneasily before their fingers are suddenly intertwined. Minhyuk rests their locked hands on half of his lap. "I want a picture of this."

"Of our hands?" 

Minhyuk hums, already distracted with finding an angle he likes for the shot. 

It is a nice memento. Jooheon likes holding Minhyuk's hand almost as much as he liked that time they kissed. As he watches Minhyuk, still and concentrated with his eyes fixed on his camera, he thinks of kissing him again. It always hits him at random times how pretty Minhyuk is, and it never fails to captivate him how Minhyuk subconsciously puckers his lips and narrows his eyes, the camera snapping a few times.

"There." Minhyuk is fondly beaming at his photos again. He lifts his camera for Jooheon to see the small preview. "This might be my new favorite photo."

The picture is vague, and Jooheon realizes that's what he likes about it. The fact that it's just two hands underneath the sunlight that could mean anything to each other and belong to anyone is comforting. He imagines that in this photo, Minhyuk and himself are just two careless people who like each other, and how in that moment that's all that matters.

(If only life could be that simple.)

Jooheon looks up at Minhyuk, breaking out into a smile. "I think it's my favorite, too."

The thing is he's now sure he likes Minhyuk. A lot. Ten times more than he wants to admit. But he thinks his ambiguity with Minhyuk is a safe distance — for now. The barrier seems necessary, no matter how often Jooheon finds himself gradually warming up to him and daydreaming about what it would feel like to let whatever is between them just happen.

His need to distance Minhyuk from his inner turbulence feels comfortable, and Jooheon wants so badly to feel comfortable with at least _one_ thing in his life.

That night, Minhyuk tags him in an Instagram post. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Jooheon to click on the notification, a small smile tugging on his lips. The caption only says, _'Today'_ with the first photo one of the better ones that Jooheon shot of him by the neon lights. A smile is on Jooheon's lips as he swipes through the badly-focused ones that follow after, some others of Minhyuk's pictures throughout their walk. He pauses on the one of their hands. It's a slightly blurry shot Minhyuk had taken, instead of the focused one he showed Jooheon at the fountain.

He thinks of when Minhyuk showed him the picture on the floor of his bedroom, how he didn't show it off because it was only for him, something that he only cared about showing to himself. He grins at the screen of his phone, and wonders if the memento of their fingers intertwined is what he holds the most pride in now.

There are only two photos left in the post. Jooheon swipes, and it's a selfie of what he assumes is a restaurant. Behind Minhyuk is an unrecognizable man sitting across from him at the table. In the first selfie, the man is looking down at his phone, but his head is up in the second, slightly smiling with a peace sign thrown up for the picture. 

It's probably from after Jooheon left Minhyuk at the bus stop, and it's fine. There's no reason for Jooheon to stare at some guy he's never met before after realizing that he is conventionally attractive, and there's no reason to look at his account either. Jooheon ends up doing both, anyway.

He's not quite sure what he's trying to look for on this man's (Kihyun's, apparently) page. It doesn't matter since his profile is private. Nevertheless, Jooheon can see the impressively well-lit profile picture, and Kihyun's sharp cheekbones and jawline. It's too close to the same jawline that Jooheon envies on other men, and constantly imagines the happiness that would finally come to him if only he could look like that himself.

He clicks back to Minhyuk's profile, and he knows—for the sake of his dignity and whatever is left of his sanity at this point—to just leave social media and get back to the assignment he has to turn in in the morning, but despite any logic, he finds himself clicking on the accounts Minhyuk follows.

The first few scrolls are just celebrities and girls, but he quickly comes across the first guy and clicks on the profile. It's another private account, but Jooheon notes another sculpted face in the profile picture. Every profile shows a handsome and perceivably skinny man as an icon, and Jooheon keeps scrolling through as if each one doesn't shake his already unstable confidence.

It doesn't take long to come across a public account. There are only a few photos, but the man is a long-legged stick (of course) with silky hair and stylish clothes. The next public account belongs to a man built of lean muscle that's proudly shown off in almost every single post. Gym photos are scattered in his feed with his friends, and towards the bottom there's an older post where Minhyuk is among him and a group of other students at sports day.

Jooheon finally ends up clicking away from Minhyuk's following list and off Instagram. He drops his phone somewhere on the bed and tries his best to distract himself with thoughts that aren't self-depreciating. It's such a waste of time to sulk. He could be finishing his assignment, jogging instead of complaining, maybe even hitting the gym before it closes for the night. 

It should be comforting that he's the one Minhyuk likes, anyway. Right? It should give him some sort of confidence that Minhyuk posted a picture of their hands together, spent most of the day with him, texts him often and showers him with random compliments that leave a soft pink on Jooheon's cheeks. He wants these simple facts to be enough, knowing that Minhyuk doesn't hide how much he likes him and wants to be around him as often as he can, but—there's always a _but—_ he can't help comparing himself to the guys Minhyuk knows. He looks nothing like them. 

He ends up studying his face in the hallway mirror. For the most part, he looks the same as he did yesterday, except he can't stop staring at his cheeks. He hasn't been paying attention to how round and fleshy his jawline still looks. His face still looks fairly childish, entirely dismissing what his mother had told him. 

A sigh crosses his lips. He steps back to examine his arms. They are still too soft. Jooheon curls his fingers around his bicep. He's not even close to connecting his thumb and middle finger. His tricep is still squishy between his fingers, and Jooheon hates how much he is able to pinch, hates how his arms look nothing like the biceps of Minhyuk's sinewy and hot friend.

Jooheon has been way too easy on himself. By now, he would have reached his goal weight probably months ago if he had any sense of consistency. All the times he's "slipped up" and ate more, snacks he wasn't even hungry for sneaked in between his fasting windows, (as if there was actually a way he could hide from his own food anxiety,) every single time he's sat in his room and ruined his lengthened fasts to overeat and binge on bad food, rushes through his head. Reminds him why he looks nothing like Minhyuk's friends.

Once he goes back to his room, he stretches out on the floor. It's been a while since he's exercised outside of the park or the gym, and since he's been avoiding Hyunwoo, he still doesn't have his yoga mat. The hard floor digs into his spine more, but the stabs are easier to ignore after each sit-up. Jooheon thinks he's used to being uncomfortable by now, anyway.

Sometimes he wonders what he'd be like if he weren't so competitive, if he wasn't insecure and didn't compare himself to everyone. He wonders if then he would understand why Minhyuk likes him.

It still baffles him that Minhyuk likes him, too. The thought seems like it's a cruel joke sent from the world to tease him. He looks at Minhyuk, then looks at himself, and can't help contemplating how he had even caught the older boy's attention. He doesn't think he's good enough for Minhyuk, but he wants to be that person who his hyung deserves. It doesn't matter if he has to struggle.

His phone rings.

Jooheon pushes through another sit-up before standing, puffing heavy breaths as he follows the sound muddled in his bedsheets. It seems too coincidental and just his luck that Minhyuk's name and contact photo is what meets his eyes. He stares at it, Minhyuk's smiling face on the screen of his phone. It's from a picture Jooheon had taken for the sake of replacing the default silhouette. Minhyuk is smiling at him softly, eyes squinting from the sunlight and his face mask pulled to his chin. Even when he's caught off guard, he's pretty.

Jooheon places his phone on the nightstand by his bed. He gets back on the floor. Just a few more sit-ups. 

+

There must be something deeper, something beyond the first time he'd skipped a meal or the first time a thought crossed his mind about how much better his body could be, of why the bane of his existence and worth in the world has dwindled into something as meaningless and utterly frustrating as weight.

The thought seems to bother him only during the times he's stuck in a trance, licking a spoonful of frostbitten ice cream in the dead of the night; the times when he steps off the treadmill, the world feeling too fuzzy and bright, and he thinks if he breathes any harder that his chest will concave; the thought of what in the hell went wrong?

He considers his childhood, how his mom let him be clingy when he wanted to, maybe during times he was too old to be, never pushed him too hard even when he ranked near to the bottom of his class and stayed pretty consistent with it his entirety of high school; how Hyunwoo was never the type of brother who ditched him for the kids in his own grade, and never complained when Jooheon would wait to tag along with him after school, pretending to be two years older as he excitedly ran behind his brother and friends that weren't his own; how even if his dad has become absent, he doesn't have many memories where he thought his dad only saw his position in the family as someone who shows up for work and dinner. 

Jooheon knows, nevertheless, that his family isn't perfect and that his earlier experiences undoubtedly weren't the best. He knows the way he beats himself up had to come from somewhere, and his drive to be competitive has been a constant factor in his life all the way back to being a small child rubbing each athletic trophy he brought back home mercilessly in his friends' faces. He knows there's a reason he's always desperately wanted his dad's approval and attention, and probably annoyed him on more accounts than Jooheon can remember.

It's always been known to him that his family must care about him, the friends that he's had must care, too, maybe even some of the teachers and professors in his life and the people in support group who he tried to make laugh through being an insufferable addition to their discussions. Even though he knows there are people in his life who care about him and _cared,_ his head has simultaneously always fed him the thought that nobody truly does, living as a fact that's seemingly as true as the date and city of his birth.

He always wonders where that came from, if someone told him or made him feel like his life was meaningless, who that person—if even in existence—is. There are some moments:

(a time where he's eleven and whining at his dad to get off the computer and help him set up the basketball hoop in his room until he's suddenly being screamed at, frightened and frozen at the veins bulging in his father's neck, and sensibly recoiled back to his room to struggle getting the hoop on his wall in silence until his mom came back home; another time when his family moved to this apartment in the middle of high school, and he went through the constant turmoil of waiting for his friends to respond to him, wondering why his friends weren't responding to him, wondering why he's so easy to forget.)

But he doesn't think he can blame it on one moment, one person. Maybe it's every moment. Maybe it's none. Maybe one day self-depreciating thoughts just never crossed his mind, and then miraculously, they were there. 

All he's really positive of is how easily he accepts anything his head tells him. Everyone in his life thinks he's annoying — _okay, makes sense._ He's not good at anything — _seems plausible._ People take long to text him back, because they hate him — _well, that has to be the only explanation, right?_ All of his relationships will inevitably vitiate, because he's a bad person. Not eating will make him a good person. Losing weight will make him likeable, less annoying, more memorable. His body doesn't need food. He can make his body not need it. Eating is giving in and giving in is weak and no one likes a man who's weak, so he can't be weak. 

Sometimes, he thinks he and his logic are completely idiotic, but there doesn't seem to be much to debunk his thoughts. He thinks it's what keeps him from feeling bad for ignoring Minhyuk. He does basically feel bad about it. He worries about the possibility of Minhyuk thinking it's his own fault that Jooheon won't answer, or—in his nature of caring too much—he'll think something bad happened to Jooheon and worry about it. This almost makes Jooheon quit his silence and pick up the phone, or even consider a cryptic text that could at least confirm he is in fact still alive, and then he thinks: _Who are you kidding? You're nothing special. He'll get over you, and he'll forget you, just like everyone else._

So, Jooheon doesn't eat.

It's been about two days of drawing into himself. He's perfectly disappeared into his own world where he only thinks of the calories he's burning, the ache in his stomach and how the low rumbles should feel liberating, how satisfying it is to see the steps adding up on his Fitbit, recording how he exceeds his goal each day, (and he definitely does not find himself thinking or worrying about Minhyuk and longing for touches and the gleeful ring of his voice and his laugh, all of these things Jooheon knows he doesn't deserve,) when his phone rings mid-day.

He thinks, first, that it's probably Minhyuk again and his heart picks up, then he sees the contact name on the screen, and he's sure his heart rate breaks some sort of record.

His dad hasn't spoken to him in months, too busy with the new life he crafted for himself and deemed better without his own kids in them. Jooheon thinks he shouldn't answer it. If he cared about him, or their family at all, he wouldn't have sneaked away and disappeared from their lives without an explanation. If it were Hyunwoo on the receiving end, his hyung wouldn't dare answer, but the thing is, Jooheon is not Hyunwoo. 

"Hello?" Jooheon answers, confused and cautious, as if there's a better chance this could merely be butt-dial or prank call. Actually, there _is_ a better chance. 

"Hi," his dad replies after a few seconds, which instantly makes Jooheon's anxiety sky-rocket into clammy hands and a palpitating heart and a numbing left arm. "Have you been doing well?"

Now it does seem like a prank. He sits down at his desk chair—when did he even start standing?—and contemplates what his response should be. "Yeah?" His brows are furrowed. "Is there a reason you called me?"

"I just thought we should catch up," he tells him.

That can't be it, because Jooheon isn't an idiot. Maybe his new girlfriend finally figured out he is shit, and left him. Somehow the thought isn't as satisfying or humorous as he expected it to be. 

When Jooheon doesn't respond, his dad decides to pick up the conversation again, surprisingly not hanging up on him, which is fairly an improvement over their last interaction. "I was thinking you should come visit me tomorrow."

"Huh?"

An awkward silence pauses. "You've never visited before, so I thought it'd be a good idea," he explains further. "You could meet the kid finally."

 _Finally,_ as if Jooheon ever had the option of meeting his half-sister, given the fact he literally didn't know he had a two-year-old sibling living and breathing until last year. It's all fucked, and just as his mom and brother wants nothing to do with the dysfunctional mess his dad has made their family these last few years, Jooheon should want nothing to do with it.

But this is the moment he's been anticipating, or rather, the _fantasy_ he's been anticipating. It's something he thought would never happen, his dad wanting to introduce him into the life he created, despite how ugly and messy it is.

"Well," Jooheon utters, "it would be nice to see the Han River."

"We don't live that close to it, but we could still go, if you want," he says.

Jooheon is astonished. He's being too nice to his dad, right? He's not sure how to properly react, or process any of it, but he's happy, he realizes. He wants to meet his step-sister and take a walk with her at the Han River and forget for a fleeting moment that his life is a heaping pile of shit.

Distractions are good, sometimes.

"Okay," Jooheon hesitantly mutters. "Yeah, okay. All right."

+

The night is drawn out, and Jooheon, sleepless and inexplicably uneasy, fumbles with his disharmonious thoughts in the early morning.

He's been battling himself for the past few hours about whether or not going to see his dad is a good idea, but it's the _what if_ that eventually forces him out of the apartment. It's the possibility of not going and never knowing what could happen, whether or not today could bring them closer — or maybe Jooheon could find some closure and finally get the strength to forget about this extended side of the family for the rest of his life.

The outcome is too unknown with too many possible twists and turns, that he decided staying in bed and imagining what could happen today would bring him more anxiety than just going to find out.

Now that Jooheon has been riding the subway for over an hour, bringing him closer to this pit of unpredictability, Jooheon is starting to second guess his decision.

It doesn't _have_ to be a big deal. He wishes he could just be nonchalant about this, and wishes his hands weren't so fidgety and his leg would stop bouncing so that the woman sitting beside him wouldn't shoot such exasperated glances every few seconds. He just wants today to be good while keeping his expectations as low as humanly imaginable. Thinking on his dad's history of being an utter disappointment, Jooheon knows better than to get his hopes up. This whole thing is fairly insane. He hasn't seen his father in a year, and before the abrupt call from last night, he'd been left on read by him for months. Maybe it's plausible to be this much of a wreck.

Once he gets off at his stop, he's still anxious. 

_All right,_ he thinks, _there's no turning back now._ He just has to go head first, push back all the uncertainties and see his family. It shouldn't be this nerve wracking.

Shakily, he pulls out his phone and types a quick message to his dad: _Just got off and heading towards the exit! Are you there yet?_

He skims over the message, then quickly deletes the exclamation point. He wants to come off like he doesn't care. He reads it again and decides to erase the first part of his message, so that he can just say he's heading to the exit and ask if he's there yet. A few minutes pass as he waits for a response. Jooheon plops down at a nearby bench, tired of standing, then quickly hops up again after realizing he's too restless to sit down. His dad is probably already at the exit and waiting for him, anyway.

The walk to the exit seems to stretch forever. He finally comes across the end after trudging through endless turns, the muscles in his legs aching. There's no sight of a man with a little girl among the people flooding the station. Jooheon scans the crowd and the faces in them, all unfamiliar, for a while longer. His family have probably already went outside. He glances at his phone again—still no response—and drags his feet up the staircase where the chilly, October air brushes him almost instantly.

There's a bench nearby that Jooheon finally plops on, or collapses, more so. He pulls his arms out of the straps of his bag and searches for where his bottle is, covered in a variety of black stickers, sits down. Once the bottle touches his lips, he's quickly gulping it down like it's his first drops of water in weeks. His hands are shaky as he gets the cap back on, each breath shallowly falling from his mouth. He pushes the bottle that's now only left with a few sips (he has a feeling he'll regret that later) into his backpack and tugs out the extra jacket he'd stuffed inside earlier this morning.

Time is too slow and too fast all at once. Jooheon thinks the worst torture is sitting and waiting while his nerves are a jumbling mess. After a while of leg bouncing and glancing hopefully at each person who appears from the top of the steps, he checks the time. About thirty minutes has passed.

He taps out another text: _I'm outside at the exit. Are you going to be here soon?_

Again, Jooheon contemplates the message, then deletes the question at the end. It's suitable now that it seems to not affect him whatever time they choose to arrive. He hits send and sits back, tries to at least look like he's relaxing. His stomach is rumbling. He'd thought by the third day the feeling wouldn't be there anymore, but admittedly it's less of a bother than it was the first night.

Jooheon grabs the bottle from his bag again and downs the last few drops. Yup, he regrets it. He packs the empty bottle away, and quickly goes back to waiting anxiously.

Then, it's been an hour. The sun is warmer and shines more brightly now that noon has come in, but Jooheon is slightly shivering from the soft breeze. He's been sitting with his arms pushed in the sleeves of his jacket, but now he decides to actually put it on properly.

He looks at the time on his Fitbit, as if it'll be different from when he checked it a few seconds ago, and send another text. It's only about five or six question marks. He thinks it sums up exactly how irritated he feels, and he sends it without any thought.

Maybe something else came up. Maybe the bus broke down. That seems reasonable, even though Jooheon doesn't even know if they took the bus. Or if they are even on the way.

Absently, Jooheon fiddles with the small stuffed honeybee attached to his backpack. His stomach aches, in a way that feels like he's two seconds from hurling. He should probably refill his bottle, or just buy water, but if his father and sister finally come around and don't see him, they could end up leaving. He decides to stay put.

Jooheon ends up pacing back and forth in front of the exit. Glancing at his wrist, he lets out a small breath of air at the 13:41 printed there. He checks his phone, and there's still no message.

It doesn't make any sense. Would someone really go out of their way to randomly invite their son over when they don't plan on showing up? If he needed to cancel, he at least could have said so. Maybe something is wrong.

He peers over his phone, hesitant as he tries to figure out his next move. Finally, Jooheon types: _I'll go to the Han River first. Let me know if you decide to come._

There's no reason to proof-read it either. Jooheon stares at the screen after he sends it, softly chewing at his lips, as if merely this message would be what prompts the world to finally give him a response. He guesses, for now, the silence is enough of a response for him, and heads back into the subway. 

A part of him wants to return home in defeat, like a beaten pup. He wasted so much stress and time and money when he could have just stayed home, or done something worthwhile and gone to the gym this morning. As he bounces back down the steps, feet heavy and shoulders low, it takes every fiber of his soul to force himself to not head to the line that leads home, and instead wait for the next train to the river park.

It's been a few years since Jooheon has been here. Once he's made it from the exit and the park comes into view, people surrounding the area in groups and pairs, bikes strolling past, the light shrill laughter of children in the distance, he's hit with nostalgia and equally a feeling of dread.

He tugs his fingers through his hair. A walk could do him some good for now. All the frustration and disappointment building inside of him probably needs a good walk off. As a man zips by on his bike, Jooheon contemplates renting one before, like a quick flashback, he thinks of Minhyuk tagging behind him on his bike, laughing happily on their first date — (it was a _real_ date, right? Does Jooheon even want it to be a real date, hence he ruined it not long after?)

Jooheon shakes the memory from his mind and starts off on a stroll.

He misses Minhyuk, he realizes. Jooheon didn't think after only a few days, he could miss him this much. He wants to tell Minhyuk about his dad and his festering anger at himself for being stupid enough to allow himself to be let down again, but he doesn't think he'll ever be comfortable opening such a dysfunctional and fairly ugly part of his life to Minhyuk. What will it make of their relationship then? Their dynamics could shift, the way Minhyuk perceives him could change entirely, and Jooheon is terrified of what that change could exactly be.

The day is mostly of him trying to find things to do. Jooheon snaps photos of the river park (as if he would actually want to remember this,) looks through the mall and inevitably ends up with four new tee shirts, a phone case, and a black baseball cap that he pulls over his hair, tag dangling and all. It's not entirely bad being on his own. He still ambles dejectedly, but he's not as angry as before. Hell, he now has a new phone case.

The feeling is rather short-lived. His phone pings (the time reading 17:18,) and it seems that any brush of happiness is sucked from him. It's a text from his dad, surprisingly: _OK. Had to run to work. Won't make it._

Jooheon freezes.

It's almost funny, actually. Jooheon thinks, fleetingly, he could just chuck his phone right into the water and stalk off, but then he wouldn't be able to use his new phone case, so it's not really a sensible option at the moment. He pockets it instead and lets his footsteps lead him to the nearest bus stop.

He's an idiot, isn't he? No, really. This should've been expected. Out of all the times his dad has shown him how much he doesn't care, from how he randomly left his family to resume his secret life over an hour away from them, ignoring his calls, showing no interest in Jooheon or his hyung's lives, and Jooheon still expects his father to be anyone beyond who he has proven to be.

Every time Jooheon is once again left disappointed, it dawns on him that he puts himself in the position to be let on, incessantly at this point. He looks and feels like a fool when he messages his dad without reason, thinking that maybe he will actually reply this time, or calls him, always having to leave an awkward voicemail that will probably be left unheard. The only explanation is idiocy.

He spots a convenience store, pauses. He shouldn't. He's not hungry, anyway, and he can't waste three days of fasting on something as empty as snacks. He planned it already, that he would break his fast tomorrow with miso soup.

He turns away, keeps walking, then glances at the store entrance again where two teenagers are heading up the steps inside. He turns away again — _ugh, fuck it._

It seems dangerous being surrounded by so much food. The emptiness in his stomach feels more prevalent than before as Jooheon walks through the aisles, trailing his eyes over each food item like he's embarking on an adventure, completely undecisive on what's worth spending money on.

He grabs ramyun, because it's a given, and then, with an embarrassing lack of hesitance, grabs another. By the time he reaches the counter, he has two bottles of beer and a bottle of water tucked under his arms. It almost looks as if he's actually here with someone else, and the reminder of his loneliness fleetingly sits heavy on his heart. 

Every step that brings him closer to the cooking station outside, he's fighting with himself: _(Eating all this really isn't worth it. I fasted so long. I could go longer. But I really want it. I already bought it. I'll eat only one pack, and only take a few sips of beer. But that's already too many calories. It's too much sodium. I'll gain weight again. My face will be puffy in the morning. But no one is going to see me tomorrow. I can just not eat tomorrow. If I only cook one pack and take a few bites, throw it away, that should be okay. I could throw away the beer. It's too many calories. I could bring the other ramyun for Mom to eat. But I want to eat both of them. But I shouldn't. I shouldn't drink either. But I haven't drank in forever. But it's not worth it. But —)_

Jooheon decides to cook only one pack. He lays out his unneeded picnic blanket on the grass (lets out a sigh, there was supposed to be two other people on this blanket with him,) and lays out his beers and cooked ramyun, setting the other uncooked pack aside before ripping open a pair of disposable chopsticks. This could be nice, actually, under different circumstances.

He slurps the noodles down quickly, cringing at the way it burns the roof of his mouth, but feeling too hungry to care. A wave of nausea rushes over him. He stares into the bowl, the spice tickling his nose. This is a bad idea. Really bad.

He bites his lips, then mindlessly sucks in another mouthful.

Something that scares him the most about eating is that once he gives in, it's borderline impossible to stop. It's always all-or-nothing. Even now, he doesn't know the limit.

By the time he's done with his ramyun, both of the beer bottles are empty. He's uncomfortably full and feels large, like he's spilling out of his clothes, yet his eyes are still locked on the uncooked bowl. It doesn't take long before he's went back to the cooking station with a stomach rumbling in discomfort. Once he's back and sitting cross-legged on his blanket, alone, he's trying to comfort himself: _(It's okay. I can work it off later. This will be the last thing I eat.)_

(Spoiler alert, it isn't.)

There's no other way to explain it other than losing his consciousness. It's blurs of more ramyun, dumplings, ordering chicken—an order for two, precisely,— ice cream, candy bars he hasn't eaten in months, skewered meat that burns his mouth, swallowing down pretty much every food he wouldn't have dared to touch to his lips only yesterday.

Nighttime falls. Jooheon ends up with another beer in hand and a painfully swollen stomach (and literally no money left in his wallet,) before deciding it's time to finally go back home. He should have left ages ago, which he knew. He knew it as soon as he caught sight of the convenience store, and it makes him want to punch himself in the face for ignoring himself and eating food he didn't need instead. It always ends up like this.

He has to go with a vacant alley to throw up in. It brings him back to his last conversation with Hyungwon, his friend _(former friend?)_ 's sullen eyes, and he pushes his fingers back into his mouth again, pukes until his head spins and he has to squat on the floor for a few breaths to regain his balance.

It's strange how something he was scared of last year has become a compulsion every other week. He hates it, but it's the only thing that can snap him back into control when he loses it.

Jooheon stands and wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

There's an older couple passing, blatantly staring at him in disgust and some bewilderment. It should probably be his first instinct to run off, but for some reason he ends up awkwardly bowing at the both of them. They blink at him, and sensibly, the man pulls his girlfriend a bit closer into his side. 

Jooheon's legs wobblily bring him to the nearest bus stop afterwards. He drops his backpack on the bench, then practically throws himself down with it. He spreads his legs out, uncomfortably rests his head back on the wood as he sucks on an Altoids.

Jooheon pulls his phone out from his pocket. His head throbs at the light shining in his eyes, and he's still stuck in a trance, most definitely. There's no other reason why he'd call Minhyuk while in this state. He already regrets it. What is he even supposed to say, that he's sorry for ignoring him for three days, but let's not address that and focus on him and his own problems right now?

"Jooheon," Minhyuk answers, pretty abruptly. For a second Jooheon thought he was going to be left listening to an automated voice after how many times it rang. His heart warms hearing the sound of Minhyuk's voice, hearing him say his name. 

"Hi," Jooheon greets raspingly. He clears his throat in the opposite direction of his phone, then presses the screen to his ear again. "Sorry that I haven't answered in the last few days." 

"It's fine."

"I've just been struggling," he admits with some hesitance. It's embarrassing to say the words. Jooheon picks up his head, pulls his feet up on the bench as he pops two more mints in his mouth. "I had a weird day. It was shit, actually. I was stood up at the Han River by my dad"—the way it sounds leaving his mouth, so ridiculous, he chuckles dryly—"and so I've been here all day, trying to have fun on my own and trying not to think about the fact everything sucks and I feel like shit, but I mean, it's fine. Well, it isn't fine, but I'll get over it —"

"Jooheon-ah," Minhyuk quietly interrupts, "my mom died."

He's frozen for what feels like a minute, unsure how to respond. 

"Oh," Jooheon utters.

That definitely was not the way to respond.

"Shit," Jooheon says after, though he assumes this isn't much better than the awkward reaction he had before. "When? Today?"

"Three days ago."

 _Shit,_ this time Jooheon says this in his head.

He thinks of how he exercised on the floor, ignoring Minhyuk's call that night. His mom died, and Jooheon fucking _ignored_ him over nothing. For three days. _Shit._ _Shitshitshitshit._

"That's crazy." And way worse than the miniscule and meaningless crisis he had going on.

He feels like a complete idiot. He called Minhyuk after ignoring him for three days with no reason and without giving him an explanation, then dived into talking about himself without even asking why Minhyuk had called so often. It makes sense now, why Minhyuk hadn't just sent him what he wanted to say through a text message. Jooheon's heart hurts knowing that he wasn't there for him, knowing that he's so selfish he was only absorbed in himself for three days.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Jooheon tells him, hoping he knows it's meant as a dumb apology for his absence. "This is so unfair, hyung. How did it go in support group? Do you think it'll help?"

"I didn't go to support group. I haven't went in a while," Minhyuk murmurs. "It's pretty boring now."

Jooheon frowns. He doesn't want Minhyuk to be alone. His family are probably with him, but it defeats the purpose of Minhyuk going to support group in the first place. Jooheon can understand, in a way, since there was no way for Minhyuk to assume how he'll feel before this happened. Minhyuk liked support group, though, if Jooheon remembers correctly.

"I'm going to be all right," Minhyuk says after a moment, as if he can read Jooheon's thoughts through the screen. "Don't worry about me, okay?"

"I'm still going to worry."

He laughs hollowly against his ear, and it breaks Jooheon's heart. "Well, don't worry too much, then. I have to go now, Jooheon-ah. Can I call you later?"

"Oh, yeah, that's fine. And uh, you can call whenever, you know? I'll be here, hyung. I promise." Jooheon hopes that it's reassuring, that Minhyuk hasn't lost his trust in him, but it's hard to discern the sad tone of his hyung's voice, especially blindly, only being able to imagine what Minhyuk must look like on the other side of the phone.

"Thank you." Minhyuk pauses. "And I hope you have a better day tomorrow. Get home safely."

The call ends there, then Jooheon is left alone again. He chews his lips too hard, slowly pops another mint in his mouth. 

_Shit._

+

"Thanks for helping me," Jooheon says, gently spreading the buttercream over the top layer of chocolate cake. 

Hyunwoo only hums and leans closer to the counter to smooth down the frosting on the opposite side. Jooheon is fairly proud of himself for learning how to make buttercream from a YouTube video. He's trusting the delighted smile that tugged on Hyunwoo's lips after he went in for a spoonful that it actually tastes well, considering Jooheon can't bring himself to taste it on his own.

It's only been a few hours since Hyunwoo came through the door, bags of cake flour, a carton of eggs, and cocoa powder that the apartment didn't have, after the fairly incoherent text message Jooheon sent him.

Jooheon's phone call with Minhyuk left him feeling helpless, and he couldn't shake how heavily that feeling weighed on him. Food is the only way he knows to cheer people up. As soon as the idea to bake Minhyuk something popped into his mind, he'd pulled up numerous food blogs for any inkling of what to do. Cake isn't much, admittedly, especially with Minhyuk's situation, but it's all Jooheon can think to do for now. 

"Doesn't it look a little plain?" asks Jooheon, eyeing the finished job. It's just a two-layered and round chocolate cake with icing. He contemplates the top layer and cocks his head. "Should I write something? What do you put on a cake when someone's mom dies?"

Hyunwoo stares at where the frosting sits, absently puckering his lips as he contemplates it. He pushes off from the counter, offers, "'Condolences.'"

Jooheon snorts.

"No? Not good?"

"I'm not going to give him a 'Sorry about your mom's death' cake."

"Isn't that what the cake already is?"

Jooheon stares at it, lips pursing. "True."

Hyunwoo lets out a laugh, and Jooheon can feel his own lips quirking from the sound of it.

The cake may be a stupid gesture, but it's better than a card, at least, or flowers that will inevitably wilt in a few days with a grim irony. (Now that he thinks about it, he hopes Minhyuk will be able to eat all of this cake before it spoils. Maybe it is a stupid gesture.)

"I'll leave it like this," Jooheon decides. He places it carefully on the heart-shaped platter—the only platter left at the store down the street—which in comparison to his blatantly homemade cake and frosting work, is on the same lines of a drawn stick figure in a fancy, gold frame. Nonetheless, he places the cake lid on top and stores it in the fridge. "Hopefully it'll cheer him up a little. Thanks again."

"It's fine," Hyunwoo smiles. He suddenly opens the cabinet above him, pulling out a ceramic bowl and grabbing one of the untouched boxes of cereal off the counter.

Sometimes Jooheon forgets that his brother used to live here. It brings him a brief feeling of normalcy that he's grateful to have right now. He's relieved to have someone's company at all, despite the pit of guilt and palpable awkwardness from the last conversation with his brother being a few months ago and about his weight. Jooheon has clearly ignored Hyunwoo since then, something he seems to do well these days, and after Hyunwoo quickly stopped trying to contact him, it became obvious that he had caught on.

Neither of them have mentioned their last conversation, or about Jooheon ghosting him. It wouldn't be worth it, anyway, but Jooheon did sense concern in his brother's eyes from the second he came through the door. Jooheon did his best to make himself presentable and perceivably normal when he came back home from the river park, trying to rid himself of binging and throwing up. He hopped into the shower almost immediately, harshly scrubbing at his skin until it was sore and burning red, and he could no longer smell the alcohol and vomit.

"By the way," Jooheon says from across the room, failing to not stare at how Hyunwoo fills his bowl, milk pouring from the pitcher and pooling over corn flakes and almonds, "I spent all day at the Han River."

"That's nice."

Jooheon chuckles. "It would've been," he tells him, and peels his eyes away from the bowl. "Dad invited me, and he wanted me to meet the baby."

Hyunwoo shoots him a crazed glance, then settles for just brows raised in confusion. "Oh."

"And then neither of them showed up."

 _"Oh."_ His expression softens with some understanding. He snaps the milk lid closed and stores it back in the fridge. "Do you know why?"

"He had to run to work, apparently," Jooheon explains, subconsciously rocking back and forth against the counter, finding any way to keep his body moving and burning off calories and definitely not eyeing the cereal in Hyunwoo's bowl. "But he didn't tell me until hours later, so it was kind of pointless by then. I was already there for a while."

"That's fucked." Hyunwoo shakes his head. He ends up cupping a bottled drink in one arm and heads to the living room, bowl in hand. "I shouldn't have told him to call you."

Jooheon freezes. His heart seems to have stopped momentarily as he tries to process this. He knew the call was too suspicious, too good to be true, and yet the confirmation still painfully dawns on him. "You told him to call me?"

"Yeah," Hyunwoo nonchalantly replies, digging into his cereal, "I didn't expect him to invite you anywhere, though. I just told him to consider giving you a call."

Jooheon stammers ridiculously. His mouth sputters incomprehensible sounds before he finally utters, "Why would you do that?"

"I don't know, you've just been," Hyunwoo trails off, contemplating how to explain it, "weird."

"Weird?" Jooheon repeats. He plops onto the couch next to his brother, deciding to push his curiosity of how "weird" he's supposedly been for another discussion. "Wouldn't you think that'd make me more weird?"

"It seemed like a better plan in theory," he admits. "You really wanted him to talk to you, so I thought it'd make you feel better."

"It didn't."

"I'm sorry."

A sigh crosses Jooheon's lips. His brother's apology seems sincere, and Jooheon knows no matter how much anger burns inside of him, it isn't for Hyunwoo. Maybe it isn't for their dad either, and maybe all the anger is just for himself.

He wasted so much time and anxiety on someone who had to be prompted to want anything to do with his own son. Before, Jooheon felt like an idiot for believing his father would actually show up, but now he knows he's actually an idiot for believing his father would seriously consider introducing someone from a life he left behind, to the new, unsullied façade he lives now. It's been like this for the last few years, and yet Jooheon continuously fails to accept the new reality he lives in. 

"Bet this is how it's always going to be," mutters Jooheon. This plausibility only dawns on him now, and it is fairly humiliating. He'd been hoping for two years that there would be a turn-around, that his life wouldn't feel like left-over fragments, that his mom would want to be home more often and smile and talk to him more, that Hyunwoo would sleep in the empty bedroom across the hall again, and they would all fall back to normalcy. He held onto that hope too tightly, and now that it withered with each hour he waited for his dad and the little sister he's never met, he's not exactly sure how to feel.

"Yeah," Hyunwoo says, exhaling a low, soft sigh. He rakes a hand through his hair, letting it flop over messily, doesn't say anything else.

"There are so many people who will fuck me over in my life," Jooheon tells him as he lets his body sink into the couch. "Shouldn't I be able to trust someone I've known since the beginning? He wasn't always an asshole, right?"

"Well," Hyunwoo pauses, takes a big bite of his cereal, "I don't know."

Jooheon quickly glances over at him. "What do you mean?"

"He was decent, I guess, as a person, but he was always kind of mean, don't you think?"

Now Jooheon sits up. His brows are furrowed. _Mean?_

He quickly racks his brain, trying to locate memories, though he's always thought he had a fairly good dad. When he thinks of being a kid and a teenager, it's always the good memories: squealing happily at six-years-old as his dad gently chucks snowballs at him; falling down from a tree his mom had scolded him for climbing only minutes before, and having his dad quickly patch up his knee for him at nine-years-old with no long lecture about listening to his mother; going for sundaes on Saturday afternoons throughout most of his childhood; eating too many ribs with his dad throughout all of his teen years (and even now, Jooheon still thinks he can taste them;) in the back of the car with Hyunwoo in the passenger's and his dad in the driver's, sneaking off to McDonald's after his mom declared their family was now on a fast food free diet.

It's all of these memories he misses, and he misses being the person he was in them too.

"He was always mad," Hyunwoo explains, on the contrary. 

"Even before?" Jooheon asks, but it's not something Jooheon can really deny. His dad did have quite the anger problem, especially if he hadn't had a cigarette anytime soon, but Jooheon only thinks of his dad's inexplicable anger in terms of recent years, the few months before the news was out about his whole new life and he walked out on them.

Hyunwoo nods. "I think he was better back then, but I always felt like he didn't want us. He'd kind of just fling us off, like we weren't his problem."

Jooheon thinks of his dad screaming at him when he'd wanted help putting up the basketball hoop in his room. The memory fills him with discomfort. Was it always like that?

"Why don't I remember?" Jooheon asks, whispering for some reason.

"I don't know." Hyunwoo sets his bowl filled with leftover milk to the floor. "Maybe you just wanted to remember the good."

When his brother finally leaves in the middle of the night, Jooheon can't figure out what to say as he stands in the doorway.

Hyunwoo has only partially shoved his feet in his sneakers. He turns to Jooheon in the hallway, and says, "Don't hurt yourself because of today."

Jooheon blinks. "What?"

"You take everything out on yourself," Hyunwoo explains. He quickly glances over Jooheon's body, and Jooheon feels even more self-conscious wearing the clothes that purposefully swallow his frame into something shapeless. "Night."

And then Hyunwoo walks away, casually. Jooheon is still stunned as he closes the door. A part of him feels defensive. Hyunwoo just read him, and then walked off like it was nothing. Jooheon thinks he should have argued against that, but a part of him knows it's true. What else is he supposed to do, though? Find healthy coping mechanisms? That's funny.

He sits on the couch, thinking over his whole day. It was too long, and he's so tired. He feels tired too often. He's tired of that, too.

Jooheon slips on the floor. The ceramic bowl is still there.

He eyes the milk, then impulsively slurps it down, soggy cornflake crumbs at all, and the familiar feeling is already there. The regret, nausea, disgust. He sets down the bowl, sighs.

There's no way he can't hurt himself.

+

The initial plan is to just leave the cake in front of Minhyuk's apartment, then text him after he's already made it back down to the first floor. He expects Minhyuk to not be in the mood to see him, and a part of Jooheon is unsure whether or not he's ready to see Minhyuk either. There isn't a lot he has to say to him, and he's still stuck with resentment for not being there for Minhyuk when Minhyuk has always been there for him.

But as soon as he positions the heart platter beside the door, it swings open.

Minhyuk pauses, eyes slightly widened in surprise. His hair is pushed back with a cap, though Jooheon can make out the brightly bleached strands from it. "Jooheon-ah," he stammers, then curiously darts his eyes to where the younger boy is squatted next to the door, "what are you doing here?"

"I brought you a cake," Jooheon greets, probably smiling too widely. He stands with it in his hands and eagerly presents it to him. "My brother and I made it. It's chocolate."

Minhyuk blinks at the cake, then carefully takes it. "Is this like a 'Sorry your mom died' cake?" 

"Oh, God." The prideful smile wipes from Jooheon's face. He looks down at the chocolate cake in horror. "My brother warned me about this. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to cheer you up, and I thought cake would be —"

"I wasn't being serious," Minhyuk quietly laughs. "Thanks for making me a cake."

Jooheon inwardly sighs of relief, smiles softly. They seem to stare at each other for a few heartbeats, trying to figure out what comes next. Jooheon doesn't think anything feels necessarily awkward between them, but it's confusing and unsure, rather.

Jooheon is just thinking too much. There's a lot of room to say the wrong thing, to mess up even more than he already has, and he's trying to patch up what he's broken.

"Uh," Jooheon utters after a while, "you were going somewhere, right?"

"Oh, yeah." Minhyuk pushes himself up from leaning in the doorway. "Wanna come with me? I just need to run by the store for a bit."

The two of them walk slowly, brushing against one another every few steps. It seems like a lot has changed about them in only four short days. Jooheon does feel different than he did four days ago. Sadder, maybe, and indubitably less certain of himself. 

"You haven't said anything about my hair," Minhyuk randomly mentions, a playful smile tugging on his lips. "I'm not sure if I'm offended or relieved."

Jooheon eyes the bright slivers of hair peeking from the cap. "I would've said something, but it's hidden."

"Rightfully hidden. My hair is fifty shades of yellow underneath here. Apparently I'm bad at following directions, and I suck at using bleach." 

"I want to see."

"Nuh-uh." Minhyuk jumps away from the hand Jooheon instantly uses to reach for the hat. "I'm changing this as soon as I can."

Jooheon teasingly pouts. "Even before I get to see?"

"It's too embarrassing."

"It's just me," Jooheon says, in his defense. "I'll only roast you a little."

Minhyuk reflectively swats his arm when Jooheon tries pulling off the hat again. "Stop it!" he shouts, grinning.

Jooheon smiles back at him and rolls his eyes. They don't endlessly chatter like they usually do, most of the walk is prolonged silences and a few words and chortles thrown in here and there. They end up at Olive Young, and Minhyuk makes a beeline for the hair section where rows of hair dye boxes sit.

"I don't even know what to get," Minhyuk admits. He squats onto the floor, already contemplating the different choices of brown and black. "Why are there so many options. Shouldn't it just say 'brown' and 'black'?"

"Well, this is chocolate brown." Jooheon plucks the box of hair coloring treatment from the shelf to feel like he's some sort of help. He notices the other box beside it and pauses. "Oh. And then there's dark chocolate brown. And khaki. And dark khaki."

"Are there really these many shades of brown?"

"People like options — ooo, it has keratin and is ammonia free."

Minhyuk briefly flicks his eyes away from a different pack in his hand, only slightly curious. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but it's probably good, right?" Jooheon waves the two shades of chocolate brown in his hand that Minhyuk finally takes with a humored quirk of his lips, examining both of them.

They read nearly every box before Minhyuk reluctantly chooses a brown he likes (espresso brown, specifically,) before the two boys stroll back to the apartment complex. Jooheon once again fails to snatch the hat off Minhyuk's head, and in turn has to chase after his hyung, breathlessly laughing and shouting after him, nearly the whole way back.

By the time they make it in the elevator in Minhyuk's apartment complex, Jooheon is still pathetically wheezing. This is becoming his life, unfortunately, for the past few weeks. He still runs in the park often despite routinely pausing his jogs to hold his weight against a tree, face burning, breaths unsteady, the world too bright as his head whirls and squeezes, but admittedly, Jooheon is a little stubborn and always forces another lap (or two) out of himself. He isn't sure why he's so exhausted now.

"Good?" Minhyuk asks, out of breath himself, and he looks concerned, like he usually does. Jooheon is tired of the people left in his life looking at him that way, but seeing Minhyuk still have room to worry when Jooheon should be the one who's worried instead, hurts his heart.

He forces himself to straighten up, tugging his lips into a tight smile. "Yeah," Jooheon breathes, eventually.

They are the only two in the apartment, that Jooheon realizes when Minhyuk throws the door open and it isn't acknowledged. The apartment seems duller and quiet, like it's already been left in desolation. There's an empty wheelchair in the living room holding flowers, a blanket, and an old, framed photo of a smiling woman and two toddlers. Jooheon quickly darts his eyes away.

"Have you been alone for a while?" Jooheon asks, following Minhyuk into his bedroom. 

"Not really." He tosses the box of hair dye and a pack of sheet masks that was randomly plucked from the shelf last minute onto his bed. "My dad and brother headed out to have something to do. I just didn't feel like going."

"Maybe it would've been nice." Jooheon shrugs, doing an awful job of being subtle.

Minhyuk glances at him with barely a smile on his lips. "I get that, but I'm in charge of planning a funeral and I have to fix my hair."

"I can help," Jooheon quickly offers, then quickly adds, "with your hair, I mean."

"Have you dyed hair before?"

"Well... no. But there are instructions, right?"

Minhyuk exhales a laugh, grabs the box off his bed and motions for Jooheon to trail after him. "Come on, then."

They move to the restroom where Minhyuk drags in a stool. Jooheon is already at the counter mixing the solutions together, latex gloves tugged over his hands and the bib covering his chest. 

Minhyuk glances over the bib. "Shouldn't I be wearing that?"

"I'm the chemist here," Jooheon says in his defense. Minhyuk just chuckles and plops into the stool, glancing over the large spreadsheet of instructions. They are fairly simple, for the most part, which definitely makes Jooheon feel like there's ironically a lot of room to do something wrong. "I think I'm finished now."

"You followed the directions?"

"Step one just says to blend the solutions, didn't I do that?" Jooheon playfully shoots back. "Now get this hat off."

Minhyuk frowns, as if there was possibly a way to color his hair with the hat on. "All right," he sighs, "but promise you won't laugh at me."

"I can't promise that without seeing it first."

"Jooheon-ah," Minhyuk whines.

"Okay, then I promise I won't laugh-laugh." In the mirror, Minhyuk is still pouting at him, childishly crossing his arms. " _Fine._ I won't laugh. Let's just get this over with."

Minhyuk tugs off the hat, and it's at least not as bad as Jooheon imagined it would be, though he did fairly sum it up accurately. His whole head seems to be different patches of yellow, silver and white, even some streaks of light, reddish brown and dark blonde. 

"Well, shit." Jooheon runs his hand through it. He doesn't know how hair usually feels, but he's sure the roughness is what people mean by hair bleach damage. "Maybe we should have bought two boxes?"

Minhyuk pouts in the mirror again (cutely, if that detail matters,) though he doesn't bother saying anything.

"How did you do this?" Jooheon decides to ask. He takes one of the hair clips off the counter, clips a clump of multi-colored hair from the back section, and gets to work. He assumes he's just supposed to rub it in since they forgot to buy a brush. "Or maybe I should ask, _what_ made you want to do this?"

"I don't know," Minhyuk quietly replies. "I followed a YouTube video, but I guess I did it wrong. I just wanted something different."

"Well, it _is_ different."

Minhyuk doesn't have a quick retort, or even another whine. They fall into silence again. It seems that almost every movement, every blink, between the two of them can be heard. Jooheon doesn't like the unexplainable silences. With Minhyuk, it makes him uneasy. Every uncertain pause is too spacious and empty.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jooheon asks, eventually. He hopes the reason Minhyuk is reticent isn't because he feels that he has to be. Even before, it wasn't often that he shared details about his mom. Sometimes he would bring her up between conversations, sharing his childhood memories with nostalgia-glossed eyes, and Jooheon always felt like he was being handed little pieces of his hyung to keep safe with him.

Now, Minhyuk smiles softly, appreciative, maybe. "Not really," is all he says.

Jooheon decides to just leave it alone. He quietly hums a tune instead, just to fill the silence a little, and gives a few shimmies and dramatic, abrupt dance moves when he notices it brings a smile and few sounds of laughter from Minhyuk once in a while.

It isn't until later that Minhyuk actually opens up. It's when Minhyuk is in front of the bathtub, head perched on the brim as Jooheon leans over to lather shampoo in the older boy's hair. Jooheon can sense that Minhyuk is thinking deeply, mostly because of the continuous lack of words and expressions, though Jooheon pinpoints it specifically when Minhyuk settles on staring at the ceiling while the shampoo is worked through his hair.

"Things seem to end so suddenly, don't they?" Minhyuk asks the ceiling, quietly. It almost seems as if he is speaking to no one, blinking up to the light. "It sucks, the way that works. There seems to be no reason. Something suddenly ends, and then that's it, it's permanent." 

Jooheon doesn't think he's supposed to say anything, so he just listens. He picks up the showerhead he has already pulled down beside him and carefully rinses the shampoo from Minhyuk's hair.

"What's even worse is that there's nothing I can do about it." Minhyuk's eyes have fluttered closed, voice still low. "You're forced to just move on and get over it. That's the worst. Sometimes I hate endings."

There isn't a way for Jooheon to exactly understand, but it reminds him of his dad. A chapter of his own life seemed to have ended a few years ago, shaking his stability, all of the most important people to him now unfamiliar and detached. It came so abruptly and unforgivingly that he still finds himself stuck in the same place in time, watching everyone else around him move onto the next chapter while he dissects an insensible ending, trying to find a reason in it, trying to erase its permanence.

But he knows, too, there's nothing he can really do. The world stops for no one. Time will continue to roll forward with or without him, and all there is left to do is get over it.

Jooheon is biting his lip. He drops Minhyuk's wet mop of dark hair. "I hate endings, too."

The room inevitably ends up a mess: inky handprints over the sink, dark splotches that cover the tub, half-footprints across the tiles because somehow the dye ended up smeared on the heel of Minhyuk's foot. Jooheon's hands aren't much better, seeing as they're faintly coated in the dye after failed attempts of repetitive scrubbing.

Minhyuk stares at the mess for a good thirty seconds before waving it off, claiming he'll deal with cleaning later. It seems fairly close to determining that he won't, but Jooheon only nods, too distracted with trying to get the stain off his hands.

They sit on the balcony right before the sunset. There isn't a lot of room on the settee bench, and Jooheon swears (despite how he tries to ignore it,) that Minhyuk brushes into him every other second. His hair is now drying in a messy, dark brown fringe, a few streaks of darker strands visible, but it's fine, for the most part. Jooheon thinks that even before, with his mess of unevenly bleached hair, that he was still beautiful.

Jooheon feels dramatic thinking that Minhyuk is the most beautiful person he's ever seen, but the thought still happens to pass nearly every time he looks at his hyung. He can't help it now either, with the way the golden sky glows over him. 

"You can lie your head on my shoulder," Jooheon tells him. He moves towards him, closing the small space between their bodies on the bench, adds, "If you're tired."

Minhyuk recognizes Jooheon's words almost immediately. A small chuckle falls from his lips. His arms easily snake around Jooheon's waist, warm and vaguely familiar, before he lays his head down.

Jooheon holds him back just as tightly, hoping he can give Minhyuk some sort of comfort. He's trying his best to understand Minhyuk, but the fact Jooheon has no idea how much his heart must hurt right now is painfully clear. He hopes, at least, he can let Minhyuk know that he's here for him. 

"I don't deserve you," Minhyuk says, suddenly, his voice quiet again (the unfamiliarity of his hushed tones are still foreign on Jooheon's ears,) and he blinks up at him like he really believes this.

Jooheon would agree, but not in the way Minhyuk meant.

Jooheon wants to tell him that he thinks Minhyuk deserves more — _knows,_ but a smile touches his face nevertheless as he looks down at him, studies how Minhyuk's lashes flutter, how he looks delicate and faintly scared, and it gives Jooheon a longing to protect Minhyuk and take care of him, though with the empty pit in his own stomach, he wonders how he can take care of someone else when he can't even take care of himself.

Their faces are close, something that seemed to have happened naturally and out of Jooheon's consciousness. Surprisingly, he doesn't flinch when Minhyuk's fingers are on his jaw. It seems right at the moment. Jooheon waits for their lips to graze, letting Minhyuk close in that slither of space between them with his hand flattening on his cheek, mouth gentle like the way Jooheon remembers.

It only dawns on him during these sort of moments, when Minhyuk is so close that he feels as if they're molding together, when their hands are inexplicably touching, when he can feel the warmth from his body, that Jooheon realizes how immense his admiration is for Minhyuk. It's overwhelming — no, terrifying liking someone this much. Jooheon is scared to ruin it. He's scared of feeling too much and opening himself too much, just for this to be another period of his life that he taints and ends.

Jooheon doesn't want this to have an ending. Minhyuk is too good and too perfect, and Jooheon just wants to keep him and the warm, tender feeling growing inside of him as long as he can.

When he pulls away, Minhyuk's eyes are crinkling, happily, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and that's all it takes for Jooheon to feel his heart opening even more.

There's no way he could handle if this came to an end.

+

Usually, Jooheon's heart palpitations and throbbing temples pass. Even the few times his vision blurs after long jogs, the countless times he mindlessly shoots up from his bed in the morning and the room spins, he can salvage himself with deep breaths and his head between his knees. This is the first time he's woken up on the floor, squinting, disoriented, his head aching. A whole chunk of time has been taken from his memory.

What he does know is that he was exercising in his room again, following along breathlessly with a YouTube video. It was daytime, then? _Right?_ He thinks of where he was before, remembers that he purposefully walked home early so he could eat his sad serving of two chicken breasts and a very dry salad on the side alone before twisting the blinds of his bedroom window open so that the light could pour in while he works out.

Now the sky peeking through his opened blinds is black, slithers of streetlights shining through the darkness.

Jooheon sucks in air, exhales, slowly gets on his feet to close the blinds. He'll probably be fine. 

Grasping control of his eating is comforting. There seems to only be two sides of him that are left: the one who eats too much and the one who eats too little. When he finds himself slipping back into the latter, things feel right and in place. No more eating on impulse, bashfully hiding wrappers from his mom, slipping in the washroom at night and turning on the bathtub and the fan and the sink to throw up in the toilet, no more rolling awake with a heavy stomach and a puffy face.

There's finally order, and the number consistently dropping on the scale gives him something to look forward to every other day. It's comforting, since there isn't much else to give him excitement.

It's been about a week since Jooheon has last seen Minhyuk. Sometimes his hyung is talkative, every notification on Jooheon's phone another message or random photo from no one other than Minhyuk, every other day meeting at the bus stop after classes to find something, anything, to do (the café near campus, where Minhyuk always buys Jooheon an americano and they talk and talk and Jooheon pretends to eat cake, is one of his favorites,) or they get off at a random stop on the subway, Minhyuk takes pictures of trees and storefronts and tries to steal photos of Jooheon, and they end up sometimes on Minhyuk's balcony again, wrapped in a blanket together, Minhyuk's voice husky and hushed and his mouth soft.

And then there are times where his hyung doesn't respond for days. Jooheon knows to be patient with him then, check in from time to time until Minhyuk shoots him a text to meet him at the bus stop, and it always feels like no time has passed. It seems to be another period of time in which Minhyuk needs to be alone. Jooheon doesn't mind, but he misses him.

Loneliness has a way of screwing with Jooheon. It must be the fact he feels as if he has nothing to do, or the way he's forced to become familiar with being by himself when he simply doesn't want to. It's his own byproduct, admittedly, since he's pushed so many people away in his life that it's ended up with him being on his own. At least he has Minhyuk left. For the most part. He clings onto this thought often, although he isn't sure how tightly he should cling.

A week feels so long, somehow. And then it's been the second week, and Jooheon has thrown himself into a tiring daily loop.

If there's no class in the morning, he runs at the park. Takes a shower at home, weighs himself, heads off to his university where time seems to drag on for eternity.

Not eating is boring. In classes, he makes a habit of counting the hours left in his fast, over and over again, deaf to the words from his professors' lips, only feeling the heavy emptiness in his stomach. He passes the food court when leaving classes each day, ignores the smells and the chatter (his stomach grumbles ridiculously, what a constant act of betrayal,) scurries past and reminds himself he's in control.

He tries to avoid spending too many hours at home. Sitting in cafés away from school and on an entirely different line from home, trying to focus on his assignments while his leg bounces under the table and he sips the nth americano. Pumping weights at the gym until his arms feel as if they are no longer attached to his body. 

Then, it's night when he comes home, and if his mom is there, he can already smell the dinner on the stove that he has to mentally prepare himself to fake eat. It's like a structured performance at this point. After she's finally went off to sleep, he weighs himself in the hallway, eats two baked chicken breasts (this is the real act of self torture,) weighs himself, finally sits down to study, a small plate of five Oreos on his plate that he eats meticulously in slow, tiny pieces. He always weighs himself again afterwards, for whatever reason, and depending on if it has went up or stayed the same as a few hours ago, he'll go off to bed with less or more anxiety. 

It's only Tuesday when Jooheon decides to text Minhyuk again. Just a simple: _I miss you._ It sounds needy, but he is in fact needy. And sad.

It only takes a few hours of Jooheon's message being left unseen that he assumes he must be annoying. Everyone probably thinks he's annoying. But he feels annoying for even thinking that. Not everything has to be about him. Why does he always do that? No matter the lack of proof or relevancy, it always goes back to him. It has to. It's tiring. Jooheon doesn't want to be this self-absorbed. He knows that Minhyuk is going through something indescribable, and he just has to be patient.

By the next day, he's already considering if Minhyuk hates him. The possibility is probable. At least to him. 

Convincing himself he is the loneliest person in the world is rather easy. He's sulking when he gets home, muscles aching, every fragment of his body aching. He's so alone that even the apartment is empty.

He checks to see if Minhyuk has seen his message (he hasn't,) and somehow ends up in the kitchen, ripping open a pack of instant jajangmyeon. He doesn't care anymore. If he eats the entire kitchen, what about it?

That only lasts for an entirety of fifteen minutes. The jajangmyeon seems scarier in the bowl, right in front of him with the steam rising in his face. It smells like too much sodium and too many calories, and he knows all the weight he's lost would be a waste if he even took one bite. Jooheon drains it in the sink, scoops the noodles into a small, plastic bag, and in lieu of making mistakes, he goes out for a run.

Thursday, Hyunwoo comes to the apartment for dinner. Jooheon stays in his room while his brother and mom sit at the table, folding dumplings. His headphones are over his ears, music thumping loud and angrily, and it's only when the song is changing that he hears his name from the living room. He pauses the music player, pulls his headphones down to his neck.

"... picks at his food, then he makes a separate dinner at night. It seems that he doesn't like how I cook anymore," his mom is saying, sadness audible in her voice.

Hyunwoo responds almost immediately, "I'm sure that isn't it."

"It's harder to understand him these days," she continues after a short pause. "And he's losing a lot of weight, isn't he? He brushed it off again when I brought it up, but now I'm starting to think I should be worried."

"Yeah, he's been working out more often, I think." Hyunwoo is speaking quietly, though the conversation rolls off their tongues casually as if they have carried a conversation such as this many other times he wasn't there.

Is he and his weight a familiar topic to them? Jooheon doesn't get the interest. He looks better, in his own opinion, but there's nothing interesting about it yet. 

"Men should have a bit more weight on them than that. He looked handsome at first, but now he has little girl legs. You could put him in a uniform skirt, and no one would know the difference," she tells Hyunwoo, and Jooheon can feel a lump forming in his throat almost instantly. He's hit with nausea when Hyunwoo chuckles, and then his mom follows it with a short laugh. 

Almost immediately, they fall back into speaking of dumplings. Jooheon thinks that's the end of it, his shaky fingers brushing the cuffs of his headphones, before the sound of his name grips his attention again, calling him into the kitchen.

There is anger burning inside of Jooheon at dinner. Purposefully, he doesn't bother pretending to eat, as if it's to spite the both of them. If he has little girl legs, why stop now? He manages to swallow a few bites of seaweed salad, ignoring the excess of dumplings, ignoring the pan of a steamed egg, ignoring the fried chicken cutlets. He reaches directly over a small bowl of japchae and chews on one single pepper instead.

His mom places some dumplings in his plate that Jooheon suspects with an immediate frown. "You should try the dumplings, Jooheon-ah," she tells him.

"I'm not hungry," he grumbles, an audible bite in his voice that he tries so hardly to conceal.

And suddenly, Jooheon can't bring himself to be here anymore. He shoots up from the chair and leaves to his room rather dramatically, like he's still in high school, pushing down the feeling of remorse pitted in his stomach when he shuts the door too harshly.

They talk about him as soon as he drops onto his bed, both in hushed tones. His mom says, "I don't know what's wrong with him."

Hyunwoo is slurping rather noisily. "You could ask," he suggests.

"How?"

There's a moment of silence again and slurping. "I guess I have to think about that."

It's later that Jooheon hears a knock on his door. He suspected that they had forgotten about him, based on the conversation quickly moving to stories about friends and dance classes. Jooheon is rather irritated, considering he had already convinced himself that his mom and brother don't care about him and distracted himself with homework instead.

He opens the door, slowly, first eyeing the plate that Hyunwoo holds out for him with fruit and four dumplings from dinner. When he looks up at his brother, he hopes that he's bearing a look that's nonchalant and unlike the sudden spike of anxiety that hits him.

"Eat this," Hyunwoo says, like it's a demand. Jooheon opens his mouth almost immediately to protest, but he's briskly cut off with the quick, exasperated expression Hyunwoo pulls. "Just eat it."

Wordlessly, Jooheon takes the plate and closes the door. The dumplings are rather tempting resting along the sliced strawberries and green grapes. He sets the plate on his desk, then tries to pay attention to the words printed on his textbook, but his mind slips back to it, eyes trailing over to stare at the dumplings and fruit as if he's been hypnotized. Concentrating is impossible. Food is right _there._

He finds himself studying the plate again, mostly the dumplings, but he feels repulsed by them suddenly, something he fleetingly takes pride in. He rolls one grape in between his fingers, contemplatively, then drops it right back where it was and pushes the plate away.

Friday, the room is flooded in darkness when he rolls out of bed around six AM, throat scratchy, tugging off his shirt over his head and flinching at the cold. His first class today isn't until five hours later, but he's had enough of rolling around in his bed and falling in and out of a restless sleep, a tortuous blur of hours and hours trying to find a sleep position that doesn't feel too awkward, ignoring the unsteady beating behind his chest. 

The faint light of the bedside lamp leads him to the scale in the hallway. His feet patter lightly as he trudges down the short hall, rubbing his hands over his bare arms for warmth. The hassle of hauling the scale back and forth between here and his washroom ended a while ago. It's no longer a secret that he weighs himself a lot, but it's more inconspicuous if he keeps it in the same position. 

He unties the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms and lets it pool around his ankles. Goosebumps immediately prickle over his legs once its exposed to the chilly air, a shiver running down his spine. He groggily kicks the pants aside.

The scale emits its familiar, low beep as it wakes, glowing lightly in the dark. He taps his foot on it, then steps onto the cool surface, watching in anticipation as the number levels out. 

_0, 13.1, 16.3, 9.6, 55.0, 54.9..._

It shifts to 55.0 again, then 54.9. Beeps. The number flickers at him: _54.9_. He steps off, steps back on. _54.9._ Does it again. _54.9._

His brain stutters. The number blinks back at him in a soft glow. He thought he would never see this on a scale. Jooheon steps off and pulls his pajama pants on again, double-knotting it on his hips. The surrealism is still sinking in as he shuffles towards the hallway mirror and flicks on the dim light switch.

In the mirror, his lids are low and droopy behind his glasses, the paleness of his skin emphasizing dark purple bruises blossoming on his arm, though he's more interested in studying the way his collarbones sit sharply beneath his neck, the way his skin is beginning to ttighten around the frame of his ribcage with each inhale. He lifts up an arm and lightly flexes it in the mirror. The muscle there was firmer a few months ago, but Jooheon thinks he's fine with the loss of definition. When his wraps his middle and index finger around it, there's merely a centimeter of a gap between the tips of his fingers. He squeezes hard and the gap is so, so close to closing. A soft smile tugs at his lips.

Motivation burns deep as he goes for his usual morning run, legs seemingly pumping harder, faster. They're lighter, after all.

The sunrise warms above him as he sprints through the park. Once he gradually slows his legs, muscles burning and throat run dry, the pink and orange hues have eventually bloomed into a pale blue, he crashes onto the grass.

Panting, dragging himself onto his hands and knees. Sweat drips from his brow. His heart knocks, loudly, seemingly the only sound. 

A hand swipes over his forehead. His body feels icy and overheated all at once as he sits up, shoulders slouched. The sky seems so bright up there. The sun washes over him lightly as he flutters his eyes closed, head and heart pounding in sync.

The exhaustion washes away with time. He sips water through chapped lips, shakily stands after his heart and head calms, and with a brisk breath of air, makes his way back home.

+

Twelve minutes ago, Minhyuk sent him two messages. It's Saturday, and Jooheon is stepping off the bus, nearly missing one of the steps when he finally notices the three, new notifications on his phone.

 _Sorry for replying late :( I miss you too,_ Minhyuk had written. After, there's a selfie taken amusingly close to Minhyuk's face, brown eyes soft and a smile at his lips. He says, _Here is my face._

Jooheon is beaming at the screen. It's nice to see him, and having an inkling of Minhyuk's wellbeing. When Jooheon replies to him, he sees that Minhyuk reads it immediately, then requests a video call out of nowhere. 

Jooheon nearly jumps at it. He pulls the fur hood of his coat over his head before answering it.

Minhyuk, blanket pulled to his chin, fills the screen. "Oh, you're outside," he notes, smiling through the faint rasp in his voice. He's laying on his side and propping up his head with an arm disappearing in his scatter of dark hair.

It's difficult not to grin foolishly at the mere sight of Minhyuk. He's so effortlessly pretty.

"I'm just heading home," Jooheon tells him, failing not to show all his teeth to the crispy wind. "You just woke up?"

"Yeah." He lets out a yawn as soon as his mouth opens. "Man, these twelve-hour depression naps hitting different."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Actually, I don't know," Minhyuk slowly admits. His smile falters almost unnoticeably. "I don't know if that's any worse than how I felt before. Or any different."

Jooheon flicks his eyes away from the sidewalk again. "I'm always here to talk about it."

At first, he expects Minhyuk to brush it off like he usually does. Visibly, his hyung hesitates on the screen, fleetingly looking up as he contemplates his words. He drags thin fingers through his hair, re-positioning himself on his side again. "It's probably unrelatable, I don't know, but I've just been coming to terms with the fact I have to move on — whatever that means. My life has been revolving around my mom and our family, and now I have to just figure out what comes next. But I don't want to. I don't even know how, anyway. My dad keeps pressuring me to re-apply for university. I just hate it."

"Maybe having a regular routine could do you some good."

"Maybe." Minhyuk nods. He sits up suddenly, dragging the phone up with him. "What if I don't want a regular routine? What if I just want to sit in my room and ignore the world and sleep?"

"Then you'd miss out," Jooheon frowns. He turns onto the path leading directly to the parking lot of his apartment complex, slowing his steps. "There are good things outside of your room."

"Like, what?"

At the moment, Jooheon can't think of any. He hums in thought, then quickly says, "Me."

Minhyuk lets out a laugh. "You're not wrong."

"I'm the best thing outside of your room, I think."

"Well, okay. I can come out sometimes just to see Jooheon, then," he bargains, breathes a chuckle. "I want to see you, Jooheonie. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Uh — no. I have a test on Monday, and I kind of need that time to study." And to work-out. It's become more difficult to find the energy to actually go to the gym, and he'd already planned to force himself tomorrow after studying. "But I only have one class on Monday, so I'm free to meet afterwards?"

Minhyuk happily nods. "We can grab lunch together."

"Okay," Jooheon chirps. _Tries._ He's sure it resembles more of the appropriate croak that nearly falls from his lips. But at least he was given a warning this time. If he doesn't eat tomorrow, then he can save those calories for lunch with Minhyuk. It'll be fine.

+

His body is freezing.

The blankets are bundled in his fists, pulled closely to his shivering bones as he rolls, once again, over to his side. All of his movements are slow, sluggish. His limbs are hard to move when they feel so detached.

He groans. It burns his throat. Moving again, over onto the other side of his body where he pulls his legs up, knees uncomfortably knocking against each other, drawing the blankets over his head, shutting out the cold. It's so cold and everything aches.

Another low groan escapes him, throaty and painful. It only occurs to him after a few minutes of quiet shivering, of wishing for a sudden death right under this useless duvet, that he thinks to check his phone. The sun is already and obnoxiously pouring its brightness into the apartment. Jooheon grabs his glasses from the nightstand, (they shouldn't feel this heavy,) and squints at the time on his phone. _13:09._

Shit. It's Monday.

His legs are too heavy to stand. Like a fish, he flaps out from his bed, thumping onto the floor, glasses flinging off somewhere. The floor is warm against his skin. Finally, something warm. Jooheon doesn't want to move. He knows he has to, but he can't. He drags the blankets from his bed, drawing it around his trembling frame.

He has no memories of falling asleep. His phone is ringing on the nightstand, and it snaps him awake suddenly.

He's still on the floor when his eyes crack open, body heavy and numb, and he's still too cold.

Shakily, his hand wraps around his phone. He blindly answers, grumbles something intelligible when the screen touches his face.

"Jooheon-ah?"

Jooheon quickly clears his throat at the sound of Minhyuk's voice. "Hi."

"You don't sound too well. Are you okay?"

"I'm all right," he says, despite how faint and shaky the words leave his mouth. He tries pulling himself up to sit, but his limbs are so sore and feeble that he only ends up defeated and resting against the floor again, letting the warmth envelop him as best as it can. "I'm sorry, hyung. I don't think I can make it to lunch."

"Don't worry about it," Minhyuk tells him. "Did you catch a cold, or something?"

It feels a lot like a cold, except coldness seems to have weaved itself in Jooheon's bones. It's his fault, obviously, running too long in the icy air, not eating all Sunday and still lifting weights at the gym (forcing sumo squats with a weight too heavy, so he can define his supposed 'little girl legs'.) Jooheon thought just swallowing vitamin C supplements and not licking doorknobs would keep his immune system in tact, but apparently he fucked himself over.

"Probably. I'm just... cold. It's all right. My mom will come back later on tonight, so I'm just going to rest until then." Jooheon knows that he's muttering, words slowing and running over each other, most likely indiscernible.

"I'm coming over."

That's the last thing Jooheon expects him to say. "You don't have to," he interjects, quickly. "I'll be all right."

"You're alone." Minhyuk sounds more concerned than Jooheon is. Actually, Jooheon doesn't think he's worried about himself at all. He'll just gulp down water and sleep, cheek pressed against the warm wood. There's not much else he can do. "I'll be over there in a few minutes, okay? Hold on."

The call ends abruptly. Jooheon thinks he should panic at the thought of Minhyuk seeing him in this state, but he's too weak to feel anything. He groans, drops his phone on the floor beside him and turns over onto his belly. The floor stabs uncomfortably into his hipbones. He switches positions again, wishes he could find any surge of energy to reach up and pull his pillow off the bed.

It seems to only be seconds later that the phone rings by his head again. A breath of air falls from his lips before he reaches for it, grunting quietly.

"Hyung?"

"Jooheon-ah, what are your symptoms?"

"Cold."

Minhyuk chuckles. "Anything else? Sore throat, headache, coughing?"

"I don't know." Jooheon rolls over, flops onto his back. He knows he's being unhelpful. His thoughts are too jumbled. All he wants is to just feel warm. He pulls his legs to his chest, groans again because it seems to be the only way to deal with his pain. "My body and throat hurts a little."

"Ah, okay. Sorry I'm taking so long, I thought I should bring you porridge and run by the pharmacy. I'm just going to grab some medicine, and then I'll come over quickly. Make sure you're staying hydrated!"

Jooheon realizes he hasn't even attempted to pull himself up and go the water machine. Just the thought exhausts him. That's way too many steps. He only hums in response, and the phone call comes to an end with no finishing words. 

He considers dragging himself to the kitchen for a glass of water. His throat is dry, screaming for some form of moisture, but even one small movement takes all the energy from him. He thinks, at least, that he's still trying to get up after all this time, but time slips from him, and suddenly the doorbell is ringing.

Jooheon groans at the sound, then lets out a whimper at the realization he has to physically get up and leave the room to let Minhyuk inside.

The doorbell chimes again, reverberating around the apartment. Jooheon bundles the duvet in his hands and unsteadily gets onto his knees. It takes a few deep breaths and dragging before he can make it onto his legs, hand on the wall to stay afloat as he plods to the front door. One long-drawn step at a time, a sniff that awkwardly scratches his throat, legs wavering.

Even the door handle seems heavy. He unlocks it, having to twist harder twice, thrice, before he finally manages to pry the door open to Minhyuk standing there, cradling two bags. His eyes widen.

"Oh, Jooheon," Minhyuk utters, a frown on his lips. As soon as the door snaps shut behind Minhyuk, he has to reach out to grab a hold of Jooheon's arm through the duvet, steadying him. "Woah. Go lie back down, Jooheonie. I brought cough syrup. And pills. And throat lozenges. I wasn't sure what I should get."

The room is now too far. Jooheon shuffles to the living room, duvet trailing behind him like a bridal gown. He quickly collapses on the couch, curling tightly into the quilt in hopes he can find actual warmth.

His knees are pulled to his chest by the time Minhyuk returns, a small plastic cup filled with a translucent liquid. Jooheon knows Minhyuk is saying something to him, but it just seems like white noise. He only sits up, wobbly propped up with an elbow, when Minhyuk carefully guides his body.

The cup is lifted to his mouth and Jooheon slurps it in, mindlessly. It tastes like rubbing alcohol and bubblegum. He shudders. This is a waste of calories. Jooheon impulsively spits the strong, artificial taste back into the cup. The syrup drips from the dip of his upper lip, and Minhyuk is slowly blinking at him, then the cup in his hand, partially in shock and, from the way his lips slightly quirk, a tinge of amusement.

"Sorry," Jooheon breathes. It's too late to do something more mature. He drops back onto the couch again. "That was gross. I'm sorry that I did that."

"Maybe pills will be better?" Minhyuk snorts, though a frown licks onto his face again. He caresses Jooheon's hair, laying down the ruffled, black tufts sticking from his head. "Do you think you can sit up long enough to eat? You have to take them with a meal."

That's definitely not what Jooheon wants to hear. He shakes his head almost instantly, pulling the duvet up to feel it against his cheeks. "I don't want to eat anything."

"You have to eat something."

"Later."

"Jooheonie," Minhyuk sighs. His brows crinkle, and he sets the plastic cup on the floor, glancing at it with a quick grimace. "You're going to feel worse if you don't eat. I brought porridge, and it's pretty good. I asked my dad to make it for you."

He's talking to him like a baby, voice sing-songy and gentle as a way to persuade him. Jooheon only looks at him, trying not to pout. He's too afraid to eat. He's finally underweight, and his body is finally on the brink of looking the way he's always wanted. All it could take is one slip-up to pour all his hard work down the drain. This wouldn't be worth it if he succumbed to porridge of all things.

But Minhyuk looks so worried, eyes doe-like and brows still drawn together, that Jooheon is filled with guilt. Why does he make everyone he cares about so sad?

"What kind of porridge is it?" asks Jooheon, reluctantly.

A small smile tugs on Minhyuk's face. "Beef seaweed. Do you want to try some? Just taste one spoonful and see how you feel after that. Okay?"

"Okay." His stomach is twisting, but Minhyuk seems happy at least. His hyung perks up and dashes off to where the containers he brought are set on the table. Jooheon is grateful for him. He's grateful that he has someone who cares enough to come over after hearing that he's sick, who cares enough to take care of him and deal with his perversity, though a part of him wonders if he would've been better off ignoring his ringtone.

"Can I use this pan on the stove?" Minhyuk shouts from the kitchen, freely opening and closing drawers.

Jooheon hums, weakly, and instantly hears the flicker of the oven.

It'll be okay. Probably. He saved his calories for today anyway, and once he feels better, he can go straight back to fasting and restricting. It's just porridge. It'll be warm at least, and Jooheon wants so badly to feel warm.

First, Minhyuk comes with a glass of water, then disappears back into the kitchen. The glass is heavy in Jooheon's palms, though he quickly gulps it down without any pauses for a breath of air. He's still thirsty even after he's swallowed it, though it's good now that his belly is full, sloshing in the emptiness. Now he'll eat less porridge. 

Minhyuk returns with a spoon and container carefully held in both hands. The steam is rising above the bowl, and just the slight proximity to warmth when Minhyuk plops onto the couch beside him is enough for Jooheon to ignore this insufferable feeling growing inside of him, this feeling that the mere thought of swallowing food is sinful.

It smells good, admittedly. Jooheon waits in anticipation, fingers absently tightening on the duvet wrapped around his shoulders, watching intently at how the spoon slowly swirls in the bowl. He carefully lifts himself up to sit, head spinning.

A cloud of steam whirls above the spoonful. Minhyuk blows softly on it, staring at Jooheon's mouth as he takes a bite. It's still a little too hot, but Jooheon sighs of relief at the feeling of heat. It warms his mouth, his throat, and he seems to feel it all the way down his esophagus.

"Good?" asks Minhyuk.

Lids droopy, Jooheon happily nods with a soft hum, (and it's a little embarrassing how much he likes being babied,) and Minhyuk feeds him again, blowing on the steam each time. It only takes half of the container before the fullness in Jooheon's stomach becomes too unbearable.

Minhyuk lets him rest on his lap after Jooheon swallows the pills, and he tucks him into the quilt as Jooheon rolls his quivering body back into a fetal position.

"You're too skinny," Minhyuk tells him outright, fingers in Jooheon's hair again. He's trying to figure out the remote to the TV with the other hand, though the screen clicks on before Jooheon has a chance to help him.

Jooheon doesn't know how Minhyuk could possibly think that after all that he ate. The porridge was definitely too much for him, yet Jooheon willingly swallowed too many bites, despite how full and uncomfortable he felt from the first. Even now, he's disgusted with himself, and disgusted with how the porridge feels himself of him. It's not even just his stomach that seems to swell. It seems like his whole body has been injected with fat. The round bone in his wrist doesn't seem to stick out as much. His face feels rounder and swollen, and he hates every minute of this porridge inside of him, fattening him. 

A part of him wants to ask if "too skinny" is really that much of a bad thing, but he knows from the way Minhyuk's voice leaves his lips—upset? disturbed, even?—that he wouldn't be too happy to be asked that. Minhyuk is worried, like he's been about Jooheon for the last few months, and Jooheon hates it.

He doesn't think he's sick enough to be looked at like he's this fragile. Nothing about him has an inkling of fragility.

"You would tell me if you're not okay, right?" Minhyuk continues. It sounds more like he's not speaking to Jooheon and is instead trying to convince himself. "It's okay for us to share our feelings with each other. I want to listen."

"Of course. I just caught a bug," Jooheon reassures him, and he hates how casual it leaves his lips. It's so easy to lie. It's too easy. "I'm okay, hyung. I promise."

Minhyuk inspects Jooheon's face in his lap, fingers pausing fleetingly in his hair, and Jooheon can feel his own mouth running dry from the discerning look that's shot down at him. Suddenly, a small smile touches Minhyuk's lips, rather unfit. It doesn't reach his eyes. He lightly scratches Jooheon's scalp. "Okay. Just — I hope that you're remembering to eat well."

"I eat all the time. No problem there," he chuckles, coughing lightly in a fist around the phlegm in his throat. To prove this, as if the act of eating is as normal and nonchalant of an event in his life as anyone else, he sits up slightly and reaches for the neglected container of porridge, eats the rest of it. Jooheon smiles at him afterwards, close-mouthed and brief, and lies on Minhyuk's legs again. Hopefully the conversation will come to an end here.

But the porridge is too heavy and thick in his stomach. God, he's such a liar. Maybe he deserves to feel this disgusting. 

As Jooheon tries to relax, Minhyuk talks about pretty much anything that crosses his mind: the new frames he bought for his photographs, his little brother, the universities he's thinking of applying for, the things he wants to do with his life (publishing a photo book and improving his Japanese,) how he's started binge-watching slime videos, how he ruined his dad's desk trying to make his own slime. 

Jooheon listens to most of it, though he keeps drifting off to the fullness in his stomach. It goes in and out, like a bad connection. He's trying to focus on Minhyuk's words and how his eyes spark with happiness as he freely speaks about his passions, then suddenly his thoughts flash in his head: _I shouldn't have ate that. I want to throw up._

Jooheon can feel his smile wavering, trying to fight off the thoughts, trying to zone back into Minhyuk's words. He wants so badly to listen to him and to listen to the rise and fall of his voice. Why can't he?

Minhyuk's phone rings in the middle of his words. He pauses and glances at the arm of the couch where he placed it. _Dad,_ is printed across the screen. "I should probably take this," he tells Jooheon who slowly sits up from Minhyuk's lap, falling roughly back into the warm space where Minhyuk was sitting. 

His hyung disappears into the hallway, though Jooheon can still hear his voice there and he knows he doesn't have a lot of time.

Jooheon shoots up from the couch, stumbles, the living room spinning, though he's too distracted to take a second to breathe. The duvet is thrown off from his shoulders, and he forces his weak limbs to drag him to the kitchen.

His eyes dart wildly. There's a plastic cup left on the table from last night that he contemplates, then considers the Ziplocs in the drawers, the trashbags underneath it, even the dying plant that's sitting on the table.

His heart rushes behind his chest. _Think. Think. Think._

His eyes land on the sink.

No. That's gross. He can't — _well._

The thought is surely discomforting (and a bad idea,) but it doesn't stop him from wobbling past the counter. There isn't a lot of time to be logical. He leans over the sink, pushing his fingers past his lips. The gag that chokes out from his mouth is too loud for his liking, but nothing comes out. He tries again, forcibly jabbing his fingers back into his throat.

_Work, damn it._

A tremble ripples through his body, eyes squeezing shut. When he peels them open again, they widen, panic rising in his chest.

Blood is splattered in the sink. Red drips down his fingers. 

Jooheon's hands are shaking. He doesn't know what he did wrong. This has never happened before. 

"Jooheon-ah?"

The sound of his name sends him jumping what feels like a meter into the air. He whips around too fast and has to grip onto the sink, and Minhyuk's eyes are just as wide. He scrambles over to him, having to hold Jooheon up with a hand.

"What the hell were you doing?" Minhyuk asks breathlessly. His lips quiver at the horrendous sight Jooheon has left in the sink. "Fuck, Jooheon, we have to go to the hospital."

And Jooheon's heart races wildly again. "No."

"We have to," he pleads. Minhyuk looks down at where his hands rest on Jooheon's arms, then looks him up and down. It's the first time Minhyuk has seen him without an oversized hoodie or jeans tightened to his waist with a shoelace, he realizes. His hyung's eyes are glassy when he looks back at Jooheon's face. "You're not okay."

"I'm _fine._ " He pulls away from Minhyuk, still having to use the counter to balance his footsteps. "I just need to lie back down and sleep —"

"You can't just lie back down —"

"— and I will feel fine in the morning."

"You don't know that!" Minhyuk shouts at him, angry and desperate, and it's so unfamiliar that it immediately silences Jooheon's weak protests. He stares back at Minhyuk, wide-eyed, letting his hyung's hands gently curl around his arms again. "Please go to the hospital, Jooheon. Please."

Jooheon is frowning, though Minhyuk looks terrified. His eyes are teary and shaky and begging him even more than the pleading of his voice and it reminds Jooheon too much of the way Hyungwon had looked down at him in the subway. He can't lose Minhyuk, too.

He purses his lips and nods.

+

His throat is still sore. Jooheon takes small, careful sips of orange juice as he sits on the edge of the bed, finding entertainment in swinging his legs up and down and knocking the back of his knees on the bed over and over again.

Admittedly, it was only a matter of time before he would end up in a hospital bed. It felt far away. If it were up to him, it would have still been far away. But inevitable or not, he's still upset about being here. (And with his heart thumping wildly, frantic and uneasy, he might be a little scared too.)

He was first taken through the regular check-up. Heart rate and body temperature, barely below average. Weight, 54.5 (a troubling thought appeared in his head that he might be a little relieved he threw up the porridge.) A cuff was strapped around his arm to check his blood pressure. After a few pumps and furrowed brows from the nurse, she gawked at him.

"Your arm is so small!" she told him, mouth agape. The cuff was unstrapped, and Jooheon pretended he wasn't smug as he waited for her to pull out a smaller cuff instead.

Now, following a series of other tests, Jooheon is taped to an IV and left to wait behind a curtain. Sitting seems useless. He drinks the orange juice in drawn-out sips, wincing. It just tastes like sugar.

The curtain eases open. Minhyuk appears with a faint smile wavering on his lips. Neither of them have exchanged much words since Jooheon slipped into the back of the taxi with him a few hours ago, trying to decide whether he should console Minhyuk as his hyung sniffed and blinked away tears, or whether he should stare out the window and continue fiddling with his own fingers. He eventually went with the latter.

He shoots Minhyuk a smile. "Hey."

"Hi." His voice is soft, though the way his lips fleetingly crack upwards is enough to comfort Jooheon. "Come here often?"

Jooheon snorts, shoots a sarcastic smile. "Ha."

"Any updates yet?" asks Minhyuk. He joins the bedside slowly, like he's afraid to approach it, and Jooheon feels awful that he can assume why he's been unusually awkward since they came here. 

"No, not yet." He flicks his eyes up at him and pouts. "You're already tired of taking care of me? Is that why you wanted me to call my mom?"

"You caught me." His unfaltering expression is almost believable. "There's just a drama I was really looking forward to watching tonight."

Jooheon only blinks at him in response, and Minhyuk immediately breaks character with a laugh, apologetically pulling him into a one-armed hug and taking Jooheon by the hand. When he pulls away, his hand still stays there in Jooheon's, palm to palm.

"In all seriousness, I still think you should tell your family," he throws in. 

"Aren't I stressed enough?" Jooheon whines. For visual aid, he lifts his arm with the IV drip, and limply drops it back onto the bed. "Believe me, I'm better off without any of them knowing."

"So, you're just never going to tell them? _Ever?_ "

Jooheon doesn't give much time to contemplate it. "Preferably, yes."

Minhyuk chuckles, though his eyes deepen, "I think your family would want to know if you're sick."

There's a valid point, of course, but Jooheon thinks he has a point of his own. He thinks of his mom who worries too much, more than she ever has to, probably would give Jooheon an hourly rush of anxiety between vehement scolds and cries. Hyunwoo, on the other hand, probably wouldn't have any words for him, maybe just palpable disappointment. Somehow this thought brings Jooheon even more discomfort. It's merely a fictional picture in his head, but it's enough to assure that letting either of them know would do more harm. How would he even begin to explain what happened?

"I'm fine," Jooheon dismisses, voice nearly a chirp. Actually, he already feels better than before, almost energized. His muscles aren't as sore and weighed down. The cold still nips at his skin, but it isn't as bone-deep and inescapable. He hates that he knows it's because of the meal he couldn't get out of eating. It sits awkwardly in his stomach, practically pleading for him to purge it. The sugary juice doesn't seem to help the urge, though Jooheon keeps finding himself accidentally drinking it. 

Minhyuk is looking down at their hands molded together. "Jooheon-ah," he calls softly, looks up at him with unreadable, solemn eyes. Jooheon hums. "Do you do that a lot? What you did in the sink?"

Instantly, Jooheon pauses, and it seems like the blood pumping through his body slows and stops with him. He'd already reassured himself that Minhyuk hadn't seen him with his fingers down his throat. It seemed that he would have brought it up before, or maybe even, already began to convince himself that Jooheon wasn't crazy enough to make himself throw up until he bled. 

Jooheon's stomach churns, and his first instinct to lie. The way Minhyuk is staring at him brings Jooheon a sense of self-consciousness, afraid of Minhyuk happening to look too deeply, too closely.

Jooheon could just laugh this off, as if he has no idea what Minhyuk is even talking about. He could pretend he was just hit with a sudden wave of nausea and vomited in the sink involuntarily, like a normal person. He could admit that he did make himself throw up. But casually. Brushing it off because it isn't a big deal. The realistic and probable outcome is that Minhyuk won't think it's anything too worrisome. Diets are the norm, nonetheless. It's just a diet tip, and that's it. But, inexplicably, Jooheon isn't too sure he wants that sort of response from Minhyuk.

"You can tell me," Minhyuk says. His voice is still gentle, reassuring, and with the way his soft palm sits in Jooheon's hand, the younger boy thinks he can believe him. He could open himself up and tell Minhyuk everything. 

The doctor enters, snapping the two boys' attention away as she quickly greets them. "You seem to be all good, Lee Jooheon," she states. "All of your tests came back normal, for the most part."

"Oh."

Jooheon tries to find other words, but it's the only thing he can utter at the moment.

There's more information about watching for his body temperature. Taking care of himself during winter. Numbers he doesn't understand. His mind is wandering. Wandering until all he can hear is low volume, a background noise. None of it is important, anyway. He's normal. There doesn't seem to be much else he needs to know.

"... all good to go. We'll take you off the IV, and then you can discharge."

There's a smile of relief on Minhyuk's face. Jooheon quickly darts his eyes away.

He shouldn't be this quiet. Even as the time passes and he's taken off the IV and heads to the front desk, walking normally, he tries to convince himself to be happy. At least for a little bit.

This is good, in retrospect, that he's fine— _normal,_ precisely. There's nothing for Minhyuk to worry about now. A long, dreaded, clammy-handed and grave conversation doesn't have to be held. He doesn't have to think of more lies that will fill him with guilt, or even think of how to tell the truth. His tests already did all the explaining for him. 

The night is bleak. Jooheon tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, shivering. He hadn't realized so much time has passed. The day ticked away without him. His whole routine was ruined, and he can already feel his uneasiness brewing. The lack of emptiness in his stomach is painfully noticeable now. He should be empty.

Minhyuk's lips slide into a wide grin. "I'm glad everything came back okay," he tells him. "You really scared me for a moment."

"Sorry," Jooheon mutters with his shoulders held up for warmth.

"I'm glad it was nothing serious," Minhyuk tells him with this small sigh of relief. "I hope you get well soon, though."

Jooheon smiles. Or, at least he thinks of smiling. He's still avoiding Minhyuk's eyes, a small breath of air escaping his mouth in a small, fading cloud as Minhyuk slows his own footsteps.

"You're good, right?" he asks. They both stop walking. His hyung's face is serious again, in the way Jooheon has grown to dislike. There's something terribly unsettling whenever Minhyuk is this serious and this sad, and Jooheon knows he should do something to reassure him, but frankly, he's growing impatient. A slight irritation is scratching at him, more unendurable by the second.

"Of course I'm good," Jooheon briskly replies. "I was good before. And I told you that."

Minhyuk promptly furrows his brows, confusion flashing across his face. "Well, now we _know_ that you're good."

"I already knew before. I told you I didn't need to come here."

"There's nothing wrong with being sure," Minhyuk argues. "Something could have happened. You couldn't just sit around waiting for something to happen."

"Nothing would have happened! I'm normal, right? That's what she said." Jooheon's arms cross over his chest. "I spent the whole day here just to be told to take cold and flu meds and rest. This was a complete waste of time."

"Fine, so what? What if it did turn out to be a waste of time? It's not my fault you..." Minhyuk pauses, fleetingly, staring at jooheon, and it seems for a second it's just the two of them under the dull moon. "Why did you make yourself throw up, Jooheon?"

His breath hitches.

 _Why._ It seems like such a simple question, but in the moment Jooheon doesn't know how to correctly answer.

Jooheon thinks of many reasons: I was scared of being full. Scared of gaining weight. Scared of losing control. But in the grand scheme in things, they all feel inadequate, too superficial and simple, despite being the truth. 

There's more to it, of course, and its depth is something that Jooheon doesn't even quite understand himself.

He doesn't know to tell him it's deeper than what he did in that moment. How even after being in a hospital bed, he was more worried about the orange juice on his tongue and the food swimming in his stomach. How frustrating it is that the dizzy spells and embrace of coldness and unexplainable bruises and passing out in his room alone still isn't enough. How this obsession and intentional disregard of his own well-being is completely ridiculous, yet frightening and disgusting and wholly depressing, and he's so tired, but it's the only thing that enlivens him.

He swallows, wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue.

"Because I wanted to be empty." It falls from his lips, sits heavily in the air.

A silence envelops them. His arms uncross, shaky hands shoving back into his pockets, and Jooheon knows he should've never said anything.

"I should leave first," Jooheon grumbles.

"Jooheon —"

"Hyung, please." Another sigh crosses Jooheon's lips, leaving his mouth icy and dry. He tries to ignore the confusion and concern pooled in Minhyuk's widened stare, darting his eyes away when the older boy steps closer, bringing in the wide gap standing between them. "Just forget it, okay?"

Jooheon has already turned his back to him, walking off, blinking away the wetness thickening in his eyes, and he doesn't need to hear the footsteps following behind to know that Minhyuk follows after him.

It reminds Jooheon too much of the day he ran away from Hyungwon. This fear, unruly and incomprehensible, sprouting in his neck. Wanting to be alone, but wanting so badly for someone to chase him. He hates this. He hates how everything inevitably falls out of place in the end. Nothing is ever good for too long. He knew that he couldn't get too happy, too comfortable, and even as he knew this, he still did.

"How can I 'just forget it?'" Minhyuk is quick to end up by his side, and even as Jooheon tries to quicken his footsteps, his hyung easily matches his strides, brows furrowing. "I saw you puke blood. I can't just forget, Jooheon."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you."

"You don't have to tell me anything! I want to be there for you. I could help you, if you'd just let me —"

Jooheon turns to him, all whirling emotions and exasperation twisting and churning inside of him, yells vehemently, "You can't help!"

Minhyuk blinks at him. His eyes are doing its doe thing again, though they are sad and unclear, and Jooheon can feel the misplaced flame igniting in his chest burning him instead.

"Come on, don't push me away," Minhyuk says after a few heartbeats, softly pleading. His upper lip has dipped, quivering slightly, and Jooheon has to rip away from his gaze, because he doesn't think he can stand to see it. "I don't get what's wrong, but please don't push me away."

"You're right. You don't know." Jooheon's heart is swelling. It hurts, but maybe it doesn't matter that it hurts. He steps back, adds, "So, it's probably best that you leave me alone."

He's a bad person. He has already accepted it. This thought has swarmed in his head for so long that it lives as a fact. He's a bad person, and he doesn't deserve Minhyuk. Or anyone, for that matter.

He leaves with that. His footsteps are hard and unsteady, thoughts as frantic as his heart.

Pathetic tears stubbornly sting at his eyes. Wind stabs at his skin, frigid and incapacitating.

He sniffs, blinks, hard, quickens his steps, and breaks into a run.

+

Something keeps him wandering, even after he has folded his arms for the last resort of warmth, teeth chattering, bones feeling iced and brittle. He hadn't thought to clothe himself in the appropriate attire to plow through the city in the middle of the night in November, but he's stubborn and frankly has no plan.

There seems to be nowhere to go. Home doesn't feel like an option. If he sees the duvet left on the couch in the living room, sees the kitchen sink that'll trigger the memory stained in his mind, grimy and antagonizing no matter how clean it is now, he wouldn't be able to handle it. 

Guilt is too suffocating. Thinking about all of his footsteps is easier, having to count, because he doesn't have his Fitbit and he can't let all of these steps go to waste. His mind is a little foggy. After he makes it to a thousand and something, he loses track, and gets confused on whether or not he's said the same number twice or not, or if he skipped a number. He starts over again, ticking off each hurried footsteps in his head, panting. The air pains his dry throat with each exhale. He has to start over again at eight-hundred. His lungs feel tight and compressed in his chest, and he staggers through sidewalks and alleys and the numbers in his head, until his surroundings become familiar and his footsteps slow. 

The front door to the apartment building is locked. Jooheon hadn't realized it was after nine o'clock already. He shakily taps out the code and drags open the glass door. His feet are completely numb by now, like he's walking on air. He plods past the elevator, pulls himself up the staircase with two hands clenched unsteadily on the hand railing. Up one, long exhale, up another. Dragging himself past each floor. A burn is traveling through his calves, twisting around his thighs. The muscles stressed, like they tear a little more with each flight he reaches.

A long line of doors make up the floor and Jooheon feels like he's in the last seconds of a marathon. Hand on the wall, inhale, exhale, another step. He makes it to the door, knocks faintly, then harder with his last bit of strength and presses his weight onto the wall as he waits. 

It takes too long, or maybe not long at all (his mind is too confused and foggy,) until he hears footsteps, a light switch, and the door finally flings open. Hyunwoo is in pajama bottoms and a faded tee shirt.

His brother's eyes widen.

"Are you okay? What are you doing here?" Hyunwoo asks, slightly panicked. There's other questions he asks, though it seems Jooheon can only feel Hyunwoo's voice. Every word is intelligible and muted.

Jooheon is sad, because he can't remember whether or not he counted to one thousand again. He could've been on two thousand now. Wait, no, he reached two thousand a while ago, but he thought he was on the eight-hundreds on the staircase?

Somehow he ends up in Hyunwoo's apartment. The heat sinks in, burns his feet, fire sneaking up over his body and engulfing him in pain.

The world lags. He's on the hardwood floor suddenly. Hyunwoo is wrapping him in a blanket as Jooheon shivers. Jooheon tries to still his own body, though the trembles seem to rip through him even more.

Jooheon ends up on a bed. He's entangled in more blankets, bones rattling, a deep ache curling in every muscle. He holds onto the faint warmth tightly wrapped around him, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to comprehend the rise and fall of his brother's voice beside him. Hyunwoo, worried, tells him that it's one AM, but Jooheon can't focus. His head attacks him with Minhyuk in flashes.

Minhyuk's sad voice rings in his ears, the scrape of a plead in his voice, the flicker of unsettling images of distressed and tired eyes. And it hurts even more that it's because of him. Jooheon broke down and exhausted someone who already had enough from the world.

"I ruined it," Jooheon says. Talking hurts. His voice is merely a choked rasp muddled in sheets.

The bed dips. "Ruined what?" 

"Everything." His words are cracking. The realization is sinking in, stinging like a fresh cut. "He could have loved me, and I ruined it. I almost had something good."

Hyunwoo doesn't reply. Jooheon isn't sure if it's because of his own incoherence and vagueness, or if there's just nothing that could fill the silence. Everything feels too loud and overwhelming, and the silence that stretches between them gives him time to slow his breath, control the tears prickling at his eyes.

A glass of water miraculously appears. Jooheon sits up and slowly sips, lets the water pool in his mouth before he swallows. He's staring ahead at nothing, pulse throbbing in his ears, throbbing all over his body.

It doesn't make sense. He's obsessed with wanting people to care. This craving of incessant validation and reassurance ruins any connection that grows between anyone and himself, but if someone cares enough, then they look too deeply. And that's when the confusion comes, when Jooheon feels himself becoming overwhelmed, when panic and discomfort twines around him, and it seems the only options are to fight or flight.

He finds himself rolled into a ball in Hyunwoo's side. The TV is on somewhere in the room, thumping faint laughter in the small apartment. Wetness pools in Jooheon's eyes again.

“I'm not okay," he whispers. He thinks it's the first time he's ever let the words leave his mouth, and he can feeling his throat closing, chest growing tight. "I lied to you, and I've been lying to everyone. I'm getting worse."

Hyunwoo still doesn't say anything. Just waits, listening.

“I’m scared,” he continues, lower, blinking up at his brother through damp lashes. “I‘m tired of being like this.”

“You can get better,” Hyunwoo tells him.

Jooheon shakes his head, sniffing, twisting the duvet in small, shaky hands. “But this is all I have. It’s like the only thing I’m good at. I don’t think — I don’t want to get better.”

It doesn’t fully process until the words are out in the open, hanging heavily in the air between them, that he realizes how true it is. It's been three years of going in and out of his obsession. Three years of fading in and out of hating himself, hating his body, hating the sounds of himself chewing, hating the space he takes up, hating his whole existence sometimes. Who would he even be without it? A lump of flesh and skin and invisible bones and fat?

This is his thing. It's the framed picture on Minhyuk's floor. His own security blanket. The chunk of his life that he can always turn to and hold. But it's no longer a chunk. Not one-third. Not even a half. It’s become all of him. His sole purpose. Letting it go doesn’t seem like an option. Jooheon doesn’t want it to be an option.

“Then why did you come?” asks Hyunwoo.

Jooheon thinks, then looks away, stares at the couch across the room. He doesn’t want to search for an answer. He’s too scared of what he’ll find.

+

Later, Jooheon panickily snaps awake. The night before dawns in on him like fragmented, foggy pieces of a bad dream.

He's still in Hyunwoo's apartment. The TV, faint and indecipherable, pours a soft glow over the room. The small couch across the room is facing him, a laptop and a jumbled throw blanket has been neglected there. A coffee table with a TV remote and a bowl of loose change sits in front of the couch.

There are still no posters or framed pictures on the wall. Just white walls and brown, tan, and black furniture. The most decoration comes from the wooden bookcase their mom stole from Jooheon's room as a housewarming gift. The TV stand squishes it against the wall, a few Thai and Japanese souvenirs placed on the shelves. Even with the messy desk beside the bed, anyone would think Hyunwoo has only lived here for a few months.

It takes a while for Jooheon to sit up. There's a stabbing pain in both legs, traveling all the way to his calves, having him wince with even the slightest reposition of his legs. He exhales deeply, already out of breath, blinks at the wall where a lanky man, hollow-cheeked and pale, slowly blinks back. He’s pretty sure it’s bad luck to have a mirror facing the bed, though the thought rolls away as he studies his reflection, lazily threading partially-numb fingers through disheveled hair, carefully looking over his buried outline.

He doesn't remember changing clothes. He's now blanketed in one of Hyunwoo's faded sweatshirts that makes him look rather pathetic and small, like he's a child playing dress-up.

Last night still feels like a blur, events that he watched rolled out on a movie screen rather than him being the one who lived it. As he wandered through the streets, the lights shining in his eyes brighter than before, the chatter louder, every corner more tight and crowded, time felt endless. Maybe even unreal. And yet he was walking, dazed and tumbling in thoughts he can't remember, for six hours. Bus stops passed him, subway stations, and he looked ahead and sped past them, as if he was possessed.

Jooheon slides the duvet off his legs, wincing at the throbbing pain. He gets himself on his burning and blistered feet, tugging at the waistband of Hyunwoo's pajama pants so that they don't end up at his ankles. It takes a few seconds for him to tighten the drawstrings, then with a long breath of air released from his mouth, he plods over to the chair by the bed where his clothes and coat are placed from the night before.

His phone is still tucked in the right pocket. Jooheon doesn’t know if he really wants to see what’s there, but he finds himself pulling it out anyway, glancing at the screen with tired, squinting eyes. It’s eleven AM. Most of his notifications are from last night, and as he hesitantly looks over them, almost all seem to bear Minhyuk’s name. Four text messages, two missed calls, one voicemail, a voice note. Jooheon absently scratches a hand at his nape, doesn’t react to the way his hair consequently breaks off and sheds at a mere touch, and slips the phone back into the coat pocket.

The kitchenette is across the room. The stove is flicked off by now, though Jooheon instantly notices the pot left there. A whiff of meat and salt fills his nose once he carefully lifts the lid, eyeing the lukewarm broth with spring onions and beef. The soup is undoubtedly from one of the abundance of freezer bags his mom always packs for Hyunwoo after every visit. Jooheon is sure his brother heated it up for him, and the thought warms his heart — briefly. He studies the soup. His stomach is hollow, twisting something like nausea deep in its pit, though his feet seem to be rooted to the floor. His fingers rest on a collarbone, pensive, tracing the sharp line underneath his skin. He slides the lid back on the pot.

The kettle sits by the water machine. Jooheon fills it and switches it on, finds the cabinet with only four mugs placed inside. Not long after, a cup of green tea is steaming in his hands. Jooheon ends up collapsing onto one of the wooden chairs at the small kitchen table. It's too hard and hurts his ass, but he's already in so much pain that he just deals with it. He holds the mug tightly, letting the heat burn the tips of his fingertips peeking from the oversized sleeves.

He wonders what Minhyuk is doing now. He hopes that he's warm.

There’s a part of Jooheon that wants to get his phone again, read Minhyuk’s messages and listen to the voice mail and the voice note, but something other than the ache in his bones glues him to the seat. He’s scared. He’s scared of the possibility that Minhyuk has really given up on him. A goodbye message could be sitting there, waiting to break the last pieces of his heart, and Jooheon doesn’t know what he would do after that. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. He’s pushed Minhyuk away, and yet he’s pained at the thought of things between them really coming to an end. Isn’t that what he wanted?

Jooheon ends up on his feet again, sips from the mug, slow, the tea burning his tongue. He hovers over the stove, and without much thought, switches it on. Soup wouldn’t hurt.

As the soup heats, Jooheon sets down his mug and wobbles around the kitchen, aimless and searching for nothing. He opens cabinets with only a few plates and bowls, even less pots and pans. There’s a drawer with only one single dish cloth and mitten.

He pulls open the cabinet by the fridge. An unopened bag of tortilla chips, unopened container of cookies, another container of nuts and sunflower seeds, a singular pack of cup ramyun. Jooheon opens the following cabinet. Only spices. Another with a large box of instant coffee packets, bulks of protein powder, cans of spam, and tea bags. Opens the fridge: a side door of half-full sauces and cans, a bottom compartment of alcohol, a few bundles of wilting spring onions and perilla leaves, the container of muscat grapes and another of dried persimmons on the top shelf seemingly the only fresh item. Jooheon looks in the freezer with the stacks of freezer bags scribbled with their mom’s handwriting with dates and titles. Almost everything is empty.

Jooheon, uninterested, returns to the stove, turns it off. He purposefully ignores the beef as he fills a bowl.

The plan is to return directly back to his seat, but Jooheon is stubborn and never listens to himself. He finds the phone in the pocket of his coat and plops back down at the kitchen table, the seat pressed awkward against his ass again, and reluctantly unlocks his phone. He skims over the text message Hyunwoo left about the soup and something about calling Mom. He scrolls past it, teeth dragging over his lips. The messages from Minhyuk are surprisingly brief, unlike the flow of a spontaneous spams Jooheon usually wakes up to from his hyung.

 _Did you get home safely? Please answer!!,_ the first text says. The timestamp: 19:04. _Even if you’re mad, I’m still worried. Please let me know if you got home safe!!,_ 19:58. A few hours separates the third: _I’m sorry for making you upset. I don’t really understand what’s wrong, but I want to make things better._ Then, 2:25 just brings a simple, _Jooheon??_

His eyes are stinging, stupidly. The voice note sits beneath the last message. Timestamp: 2:53. It seems that something is tearing in his chest as he sucks in a breath, lets it sit in his lungs for a moment. His thumb hovers over the play button before he gives in, clicks it.

“Jooheon-ah,” Minhyuk starts, voice low and deeper, spoken closely to the mic. Jooheon leans close, too, maybe out of instinct, and fuck, he never knew the sound of Minhyuk murmuring his name could hurt this much. “I’m too anxious to sleep. I miss you already, and I’m just so scared. I keep thinking about what happened during our… fight? I still don’t know what happened. I’m just confused, I guess. Was it a fried chicken moment? Have you just not allowed yourself to let out your emotions yet, and it just came out at the wrong time? I’m not sure.”

He falls quiet for a few seconds,

“I always worry about you. I’m worried that you’re not okay. I’m worried that I pushed you too much. I’m worried that I rushed into things and whether or not I'm bad a person for ignoring when you told me from the beginning you didn’t want anything to happen between us. Maybe I should have listened, but I liked you so much — I _like_ you so much that even now I don't have many regrets."

Jooheon thinks he can hear his own heartbeat. The pulse in his throat beats wildly. His hand is tight around his phone, listening closely, holding his breath.

“But now that I look back, I wish I had taken better care of you. I never said enough, or did enough. I feel like I failed you as your hyung. I don't really know what to do, and I’m just worried. I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay.”

There’s another short silence, a soft sigh that brushes the mic. 

“Remember when you made that pinky-promise in my room?"

Minhyuk’s laugh is a small exhale, and then the memory bleeds in suddenly, soft and dream-like. It's moments before the first time their lips came together, a simple, innocent memory where Jooheon thought he was at the peek of his misery and the touch of Minhyuk's lips could ameliorate it. Things felt hopeless then, and yet Jooheon wishes he was there again with Minhyuk on his bed, unknowing, terribly infatuated.

“We linked pinkies, so you kind of have no choice, but to be okay, right?” Minhyuk chuckles again, smaller, sadder. “Jooheon-ah, I just want to understand you. Whatever it is. If you’d just let me understand, I’d know how to be there for you.” A third silence passes, longer and deafening, followed with the hum of white noise. “It’s getting late. I hope you’re sleeping now, and that you’re somewhere safe and out of the cold. I’ll still be on my phone, if you want to talk. I’m always here for you, like you said you are for me. I’ll be thinking about you, okay? Sleep well, Heonie.”

The voice note ends. Jooheon is left alone again, unsatisfied. The vacancy in Hyunwoo’s apartment seems to have grown more palpable than before. Jooheon feels helpless, all of these emotions that he doesn’t understand are curling inside of him too vehemently, so much bigger than him, and he doesn't know what to do with them, how to handle it. 

He fucked up. Jooheon knew it from the second he yelled at Minhyuk, and saw the pain flash across his face, as if Jooheon had a struck a palm over his cheek.

Even now, Jooheon doesn’t know why he didn’t fix it. Nothing is Minhyuk’s fault, and he knew that. He _knows_ that.

The food stares at him, steam rising, and he wants to scream at it. It's supposed to be something nice. A meal that his brother put together for him, because he cares about him and he wants Jooheon to get well, and yet the broth is so antagonizing.

He doesn't deserve it. He hurts everyone, and he has no sense of self control. He doesn't deserve the soup. He doesn't deserve someone being nice to him. He doesn't deserve food.

The ugly truth is this: Jooheon wanted Minhyuk to notice. No matter how often he tried to hide from Minhyuk, he obsessed over someone worrying about him, telling him how skinny and fragile he is, handling him gently because they are scared he'll break. It seemed euphoric and validating, and Jooheon felt himself on a high with the comments, the glances of concern, the secretive watches when he sat in front of food. People cared. Happiness washed over him, flowing through him, and he ate less, and people cared and as he becomes smaller and smaller, curling in himself, people worried more, noticed more, cared more. Minhyuk cared.

But it never dawned on him how fleeting feelings can be. The sound of Minhyuk’s broken voice, the confusion and sadness seeping through, all of the unnecessary pain that leaves crimson blood on Jooheon’s hands, there’s not even an inkling of satisfaction. That never crossed Jooheon’s mind, the thought that he could hurt anyone.

Bringing himself down is enough. It was never in the plan to drag anyone down with him. Let alone someone like Minhyuk, someone so sweet and bright, a warm breeze and a soft sun.

Jooheon eyes his soup. The spoon feels awkward and heavy in his hand, and he hates the sound of himself slurping, hates every minute that he succumbs and eats spoonful after spoonful.

(But its delicious and it's warm and cozy and Jooheon hates himself for not even setting the spoon down before he's going for another slurp. And another. And another. And another —)

The emptiness is too much. The other emptiness, deeper and heart-wrenching. He drinks down the bowl in front of him, and his lips are still wet, belly grumbling in confusion, as he’s by the stove again. He doesn’t bother with finding chopsticks, uses his hand to pull the dripping meat from the pot and shoves it in his mouth.

He should stop. He knows it. But it’s as if once the feeling is there, it’s there. It consumes him. It’s bigger than him, debilitating.

He slurps down the pot in one lengthy, drawn-out chug in the middle of the kitchen. He feels heavy and inflated. His frail legs bring him to the cabinet. He pulls out the package of cookies, tears it open and eats one. It’s tough to chew, dry and softening. Jooheon glances over the expiration date. It passed months ago. He contemplates it, then another stale chocolate chip cookie is in his mouth. A hand picks up the package, another reaching for the unopened tortilla chips, before he’s back at the table.

He goes back and forth between the kitchen and the table: finishes the cookies, grabs the container of nuts and throws back handfuls of pecans and walnuts and sunflower seeds between chips, grabs the container of muscat grapes and persimmons from the fridge and sits at the table, in pain, eating grape after grape, a handful of nuts, a handful of chips, more grapes, dried persimmons, repeat. He finishes the chips, the nuts, the grapes, the persimmons, stares blankly at the empty containers and bags left in front of him. He’s enlarging by the second.

He opens the crumbled chip bag and throws up in it. It's red again. That should scare him, but Jooheon is already in the kitchen again, rummaging through the cabinets. 

His hands are frantic, unsatisfied. What the fuck does Hyunwoo even eat?

He grabs the cup ramyun and rips it open right there at the cabinet. It seems too tedious to cook it. He breaks the hard noodles, sprinkling the seasoning packet over it, and crunches, wincing, crunching over and over until it’s gone. He‘s at another cabinet and feels gross and heavy when he’s opening cans of spam, stabbing a spoon in side and chews and chews and chews and swallows.

He goes to the kitchen table again where the chip bag half-full of vomit still sits and throws up. His head is spinning. Jooheon doesn't know why he’s eating so much. His stomach and his chest hurts, and he just wants to stop. He feels disgusting. He's so bad at having this disorder. He's bad at everything.

He doesn’t know why he’s on his feet again and opening cabinet after cabinet. Nothing seems to suffice. He can feel the uneasiness building inside of him and twining with desperation, and he knows that those two never mixes well. He just wants something, anything. His breathing is becoming rapid, or maybe it has been like that for hours. Jooheon gives it thought. Somehow he ends up eating old perilla leaves just to chew something and throws up into the chip bag again.

When he goes back in the fridge, eyes skimming over sauces and beer and hard lemonade, he looks at the spring onions staring at him. Realization sinks in, heavy: he ate nearly everything. The cabinets are almost entirely empty. There’s barely anything left to fill the void.

He trembles. His eyes water. His breath is tight and locked, unable to cross his lips. Jooheon crumbles to the floor in the face of the refrigerator. He can’t believe he ate all that. He’d tried so hard. He’d worked so hard.

It hurts. His muscles hurt, his stomach hurts, his heart hurts. He’s tired of it. He’s tired of the never-ending pain, of losing control, of fighting himself tooth and nail and yet fails, time after time.

Another tremble rips through him. He pulls his legs to his chest, breaks into a sob that fills his throat with a burning pain. It doesn’t matter if his pathetic cries bleed through the walls, if the ache in his throat burns with each gasping breath. Nothing seems to matter. Everything in this world feels hopeless, and Jooheon is tired of fighting it. He’s tired of trying to console himself with lies, ruining himself, breaking himself down to fragments and chipping away finely at anyone who comes near.

He hates it. He hates every moment. He hates being in this body. He hates that he’s stuck with it. He hates that he’s stuck with himself.

Another sob shakes his body, viciously and aching, and he just lets himself cry. It seems that hours pass of him wailing, face hot and burning, tears sliding over his skin and to the floor, before Hyunwoo finds him there in the same spot.

“I ate all your food,” Jooheon says between vehement tears, instead of explaining the blood-stain on his chin. His cries catch in his throat, makes him cough and his shoulders shudder.

“It’s okay,” Hyunwoo tells him, because he’s Hyunwoo, and the gentle reassurance in his voice that’s always unshakable no matter how insufferable Jooheon is, fills him with a remorse that hurts even more than the pain in his chest.

“I ate everything,” Jooheon whimpers, to himself this time, and he’s in such shock and disgust he's not quite sure when Hyunwoo ended up on the floor next to him.

“It’s okay, Jooheon-ah,” he says, again. “I can buy more food. It’s fine. Don’t cry.”

Jooheon crumbles again, even though he's tired of crying.

He struggles to catch his breath, crying because he's terrified, because he doesn't want to be clasped in a decaying shell for the rest of his life, because he feels trapped and he misses Minhyuk and he misses Hyungwon, and thinks of how he is a burden to everyone in his life who cares about him and living like this is just too fucking much.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore." He lets Hyunwoo hug him, smearing tears on plaid and soaking a stain into his shoulder. It muffles the loudness at least, and he feels like a sponge, squeezed and squeezed until he’s shriveled. “I want to get better.”

+

Jooheon does not want to get better.

It seems stupid that he now thinks this after ending up in another hospital, prodded with needle after needle, hooked to two IVs, and left behind a curtained hospital bed for the rest of the day after a small tear is found on his esophagus.

Admittedly, he hates what he's done to himself. He hates that no matter how much he ruins his body, he still thinks he doesn't deserve to eat. He still thinks the line down his stomach could be deeper, his spine and hipbones could stick out more, his abdomen could be more defined, his collarbones and jawline could be sharper. He hates that he doesn't want to let this fixation go, and he hates even more that he knows nonetheless, he has to.

Only now he can understand Hyungwon's fear of Jooheon disappearing. It seemed like an overreaction. Jooheon didn't feel that sick, even now he doesn't feel _that_ sick. He thought after all this time he's got along unscathed that he could be the exception. Now everything is fucked and it's too late. Now he has no friends left, his brother doesn't trust him, his mom thinks he hates her food, and he pushed away someone he thinks he's falling in love with. Now he's barely a person.

Jooheon can't stay asleep. In the morning, he is the first one awake in the room. He stands by the window, looks down at the world with hazy and tired eyes. There isn't much to see. A bird flaps alone in the sky. A stray car rolls along a road in the distance, disappearing behind the trees. The loudness and vibrancy of the city is far away, and now everything is dull and and miserable and too quiet. 

A yawn escapes from his mouth. He plods away from the window, IV rolling along with him to the scale in the corner of the room. He knows he shouldn't weigh himself. He's bloated from saline, and it's not like the other fluids swimming in his body from the past night will help the number, but he has to know. If he doesn't know, then he'll panic.

He steps on the scale, heart rate picking up as he waits for the numbers to show. Steps off. _56.7_.

His eyes sting, but he's too tired to cry. At least he knows now.

Time is long and drawn out, and Jooheon has too much of it to think. He feels helpless and alone, and he just wants to be home again where it's warm and his bed is comfortable and there's something else to hear other than the beeping of monitors. This must be his rock bottom. If it's not, Jooheon doesn't want to see how it can worse. 

Maybe he did actually mean it when he said he wants to get better. He doesn't really know what he has to do, or if he can take the pain of changing, but he knows he has to get out of this cycle. He wants food to just be food and his body to just be a body. He wants to take Minhyuk out to eat without having to starve himself the day before. He doesn't want to shake when Hyunwoo thinks of him and brings take-out. He wants to eat his mom's meals without feeling threatened and hiding it away in his pockets. He doesn't want to miss out on every class meal and every night his classmates go off for drinks together. He wants to be a real person, or at least try to be.

In bed, he ends up on his phone, clicking on the Instagram DMs between him and Hyungwon from months ago. There's mostly only the videos Jooheon used to send him, and the short-worded responses from Hyungwon after, though it still stretches a smile on Jooheon's face.

He stares at their thread of messages for what feels like hours before his hands begin to work.

First, with shaky fingers, he types: _Hi hyung. Have you been doing well?_

Jooheon immediately contemplates his words. He thinks of deleting it then, but his thumbs are back on the screen, adding onto the message.

_I miss you. I ended up in the hospital... It's a long story. I was hoping you could come visit me._

Again, Jooheon freezes, trails his eyes over the words. He doesn't want to say too much in this message, but it isn't really what he wants to tell Hyungwon.

What he really wants to do is to flood him with apologies. He wants to admit to Hyungwon that he is in fact terrified out of his mind, that he's terrified for Hyungwon even more. And he wants to tell Hyungwon how much it hurts realizing he barely knows anything about the only friend he had left, how everything about Hyungwon is full of gaps and mystery. Jooheon doesn't know what Hyungwon does, what he likes, who he really is. The only thing he knows about his closest friend is that he has an eating disorder, and he wants to change that.

He trails his eyes to his message again, and in the last minute, he deletes the three sentences at the end.

All that's left is a simple: _Hi hyung._

Jooheon sends it.

Usually, it takes a while for Hyungwon to see his messages, but the 'Seen' shows at the bottom almost immediately.

He sits in anticipation, holding his phone in both hands, as he waits for Hyungwon to type back to him. It says he's typing, and Jooheon can feel himself holding his breath. But it stays like that for a while. Jooheon still waits, the screen a soft glow over his face.

And then Hyungwon isn't typing anymore. 

No message comes. Even after an hour, when Jooheon tries to convince himself that maybe something just suddenly came up, he checks his DMs again, and there's no response. Just the 'Seen' under his short greeting.

Jooheon doesn't know what to think. He guesses this is what he deserves, though he can feel his heart shattering once again, breaking into little, tiny pieces.

(He hates endings.)

After some more hours of staring at the curtain around his bed, Jooheon decides to make a list. After being encaged in a singular goal that seemingly never ends, he needs new ones. Better ones.

He thinks, first, he wants to mend things with Minhyuk. Jooheon needs to be honest with him, and apologize for everything. Even if there's a chance things between them are irreparable, he deserves to give Minhyuk an explanation.

More ideas flood in as Jooheon mentally notes the other things he can do. He could try learning Japanese, so he can practice with Minhyuk. He could pick up on an instrument again and play for entertainment, rather than just trying to be the star child in the family. He wants to get his driver's license. He wants to graduate school. He wants to finally go back to job hunting, and actually follow through with getting one this time.

He thinks, lastly, the main thing he wants is to just learn how to be gentle with himself.

+

Hyunwoo tries handing him a bottled juice.

"The nurse said your blood sugar is low," he explains, ignoring the groan in Jooheon's throat as he rolls awake.

It's still the same day, this realization comes after a few seconds. Disappointment sinks in slowly: he remembers he's in a curtained cubicle, hears the TV behind it on the same channel since last night, and uncurls from the unfamiliar sheets before his memory gushes in and fills in all the gaps with a pang in his chest. He wants to be asleep again.

Hyunwoo is still waiting for him to take the juice. Jooheon eyes it, then hesitantly lets his fingers wrap around the bottle.

"It feels like someone is trying to nurse me every hour," Jooheon grumbles.

He lets out a small chuckle. "You still can't have solids?"

"Not yet." He's contemplating the bottle again, staring at one-hundred sixty calories and thirteen grams of sugar. He knows it shouldn't matter right now. The small tear in his esophagus should matter, and yet having no idea how many calories he's had today and now being expected to drink nearly two-hundred worth of flavored sugar is what makes his bones rattle. He wants to get better — he _thinks_ — but the sickening feeling of fullness makes him want to run from the mere thought.

By now, his cheeks are swollen — even if he hasn't seen himself since yesterday, he just _knows_ — and his stomach, now full with soup and juice and yogurt and porridge, bulges awkwardly the more he eats. Hyunwoo had said he's just imagining it, but Jooheon can't wrap his head around the fact something he can see and feel isn't real. If he feels himself enlarging, then it must be real.

He sets the bottle down, and pretends he doesn't see the disheartened glance his brother gives him.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Jooheon asks. 

"I can miss a day." He's adjusting the cuff on his flannel. It looks a lot like the plaid shirt he wore yesterday. Jooheon swallows around the guilt in his throat. He's sure his brother has been standing here for the past few hours, crossing and uncrossing his arms, absently rubbing at his chin and thinking instead of uttering words.

At first, Jooheon thought Hyunwoo would be disappointed in him for ending up like this. He thought he would have no words, look at him like a sad case who can't care for himself. He hated the thought of disappointing his brother more than anything, but with each glimpse at his brother's worried and tired eyes, the distressed glances shot at him from time to time when Hyunwoo thinks he is oblivious, this is the one thing he now knows he can't stand. This is too different. Too unsettling.

"I'm sorry," he decides to mumble under his breath, eyes low. "I don't want you to miss work for me."

"It's okay."

It isn't. At least to Jooheon. He doesn't want to be this much of a burden. He doesn't want to always be the one who's in a crisis and runs off to drop the weight on his brother's shoulders. He hates all the pieces he leaves for people to pick up after him, how, in a way, he _needs_ there to be people who pick up after him.

"Hyung," he calls, softly, staring at his own hands in the sheets. He's pinching at his own wrist too hard as he speaks, tries not to worry too much whether or not there's more to grab than yesterday. "Do you like me?"

Hyunwoo snorts. "I'm not a big fan of you right now, but most of the time you're all right."

Jooheon thinks that he smiles at this. There's a chance his mouth merely twitches, or maybe it just stays pursed and frowning with the way the slight humor from Hyunwoo's face erases, fading until his eyes are soft. 

"Of course I like you, Jooheon," Hyunwoo reassures him. His brows fleetingly furrow at the question. "You thought I didn't like you?"

"It's not that," he says, shaking his head, but he doesn't really know what it is. His throat is tightening for some reason. His fingers absently pinch at his flushed skin a little harder. "I just needed to hear it, I guess."

Hyunwoo finally plops into a chair, pensive again, his hand dragging over his jawline. "Is that what this is about?" he eventually asks, stiffly leaning into the backrest. "Did you stop eating because you think nobody likes you?"

"I eat," Jooheon argues. 

"You know what I mean."

He exhales a slow breath. It stings in his throat. "I don't think it's that simple, hyung."

That's all he can think to say. Hyunwoo just gives him a slow nod, doesn't say anything else. The hospital room suddenly seems too quiet. Only the low sounds of the TV playing from behind the curtain is left to fill the sickening emptiness. Maybe one day there will be the right time to talk about it, when Jooheon doesn't feel this humiliated and actually knows of the reason himself, but for now, he's good with taking baby steps. 

"You should start heading back home," Jooheon says then. It's still daytime, but he can sense from the diminishing light that the night will fall soon. "I'm going to be fine."

Hyunwoo wrinkles his brows. "I don't mind."

"Well, I do. I don't need you watching me while I sleep," he jokes, then lowers his voice with some attempt at seriousness, "Really, I need some alone time."

It's a lie, obviously. Jooheon doesn't want to be alone. The hospital is scary and stuffy and uncomfortable, and he's a little terrified of silence right now. But he doesn't like his brother looking at him like he's dying, and he doesn't like the discomfort from being a nuisance. 

"I'll be fine," Jooheon iterates, pleading.

Hyunwoo ponders with absently puckered his lips, looks him over discerningly. 

"I promise. Get something to eat, take a shower and a nap," he tells him, tries to sound stern. It's unfamiliar, but he notices the way Hyunwoo breaks a little. "I'll shoot you a text if I need you."

Hyunwoo contemplates it for a few seconds. His hands drop on his thighs, a low sigh escaping his lips before he gets on his feet. "Okay."

A small smile tugs on Jooheon's lips. He sits up, stretching out his arms for a hug. It feels like he's being flattened in Hyunwoo's chest once his brother leans over and pulls him in, though Jooheon must admit it feels nice. It's a small reminder he's a real breathing and living person, and even if he always forgets, someone cares about that.

Jooheon's arms are weak, but he tries squeezing out all of his energy to embrace Hyunwoo just as tightly, patting a hand on his back. He has a good brother, and he has good people in his life. He needs to remember that.

Hyunwoo stops his footsteps at the curtain before he leaves. "By the way," he says, "you should probably give your boyfriend a call."

Jooheon blinks at him. "What boyfriend?"

"The one we baked a sorry-your-mom-died cake for," Hyunwoo explains. "He came by your apartment, looking for you. Mom gave him my number since you told her you're staying with me."

There's an audible tonal change of disapproval towards Jooheon lying to their mom, but Jooheon decides to ignore it. One thing at a time. "And he called you?"

Hyunwoo hums.

Jooheon sucks in a breath. Of course Minhyuk did.

The thought of him going through that trouble seems in character, but Jooheon still can't fathom the thought of anyone caring about him that much. After he yelled at him, pushed him away, and accidentally ignored all of his calls, he thought Minhyuk would just give up. He doesn't quite understand why he hasn't.

"Well, what did he say?" asks Jooheon.

"A lot. Mostly just wondering if you were okay. I told him where you were."

Jooheon isn't sure how he feels about that. He wants to speak to Minhyuk, but he imagined having some time to gather his thoughts beforehand. He still feels deranged. He doesn't want Minhyuk to accumulate more memories of him being depressed and senseless, and he certainly doesn't want Minhyuk to see him bloated from fluids. 

(The latter may have a lot more to do with it than Jooheon would like to admit.)

"Well, I guess I'll go now." Hyunwoo gives him a soft smile, then glances over Jooheon with a flash of a frown on his lips. "I recommend drinking the juice."

Jooheon doesn't get it, and then he remembers the orange juice. He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. It flops messily on his forehead, some fluttering away on his pillow in dark, brittle strands. Hyunwoo doesn't stay around to see if he actually reaches for it, just smiles at Jooheon again, a touch of concern still in his eyes, before disappearing behind the curtain.

Now that Jooheon is alone, his eyes trail to the bottle again. If he could twist the cap off and drink it down without any anxious thoughts of the sugar content, without the heaviness in his belly, without the calories logged into his brain mechanically and his blistered fingers itching to touch the back of his throat, he would. He would swallow down every last drop to make life easier for everyone else around him. Except he just can't.

He picks it up, examines the nutrition label as if he doesn't have it memorized. He thinks of the stress etched on Hyunwoo's face, the tug of Hyungwon's frown, the fear in Minhyuk's eyes. Maybe he can try.

It takes a few attempts to open the bottle. The scent instantly churns his stomach. Jooheon sips it nonetheless, barely, lets the overbearing taste of sugar sink into his tongue before he swallows. He winces, then slurps, trying not to let himself think too much. 

The juice sits in his mouth a little longer this time. It's frustrating being this afraid. He knows he needs the sugar. He knows the calories have already been absorbed, and it only makes sense to just swallow the juice in his mouth like a normal person.

But he is not a normal person. Jooheon spits the juice back into the bottle, wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. The horrid taste is stained on his tongue. He twists the cap back on the bottle, sets it aside again and pretends its mere presence doesn't petrify him.

(At least he tried.)

+

The corridor is cold and just as stuffy as his curtained cubicle. All the liquid from dinner sloshes in his belly as he drags his feet along the tiles, swallowing hard to keep from gagging. Eating this much feels inhuman. Of course he knows that it isn't, and he knows he shouldn't feel this way. He just feels weak. Food is making him weak. 

His legs are aching to force out high knees, to break out into a run that'll leave him breathless and drenched in sweat, lunges, burpees, squats, anything that'll burn off all the mystery calories and ease the guilt of letting himself consume them. But all of his energy has been vacuumed from his body. Only a few days ago, Jooheon would have been able to push himself despite the exhaustion, but now his body just feels stretched and squeezed, left out as ringed rags.

Even if it takes a few more turns before he has a chance to register where his feet are leading him, inwardly, he knows exactly where he's going. He slips in between two nurses in the elevator, shooting small smiles like he isn't about to crumble to pieces. A part of his conscience lets the slightest drop of guilt seep through, but it's too easy to ignore. Failing is too familiar by now, and he isn't too sure if he cares much about being a failure when fullness is this insufferable.

It's too much. _Everything_ is too much. He's too sad and anxious and all of this feels too big for him right now, and he just wants to throw up until he's empty again.

He thinks he should be allowed some slip-ups. Maybe only this single one. No one can expect to get better in one day, right? It just matters that he's doing his best, and he is doing his best. He's voluntarily in a hospital that he hates, filling his body with calorically ambiguous poison that he hates. He deserves at least one slip up.

The elevator doors finally slip open. Jooheon's eyes are down, blinking distantly at a pair of black boots that are now across from him. He trails his eyes up a long overcoat, a dangling camera, and familiar warm eyes that slightly crinkle when they lock with Jooheon's, tying his stomach into double knots.

"Hyung," Jooheon breathes. His reaction is a little late, along with all of the slow, muddled thoughts that blur in after. He knew Minhyuk would come see him, and yet he couldn't bear all the uneasiness of trying to think of how to handle it.

"Hey," Minhyuk greets, voice soft. Jooheon slowly steps out of the elevator to join his side. Minhyuk noticeably glances over Jooheon's lowered shoulders and the hospital set under his jacket, sadness crossing over his hyung's face so quickly that Jooheon doesn't have the chance to shy away from it before a plushie is abruptly thrusted into his hand.

It's Piglet, the plush doll Minhyuk bought that day because it reminded him of Jooheon. A smile curves at Jooheon's lips. 

"Just in case your bed gets lonely at night," Minhyuk explains, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. "What are you doing out of bed, anyway? Your brother said your condition wasn't too good."

Jooheon stutters at the reminder. He pauses, briefly, just until he can think of a response that doesn't include scurrying out of the hospital to find somewhere to throw up outside. "'Sitting in bed got boring," he decides.

Beside them, the elevator draws open again. Jooheon walks further from the few people filing out into the lobby, and Minhyuk slowly follows alongside him. There's nowhere Jooheon is particularly headed, but he keeps up with a slow stroll through the lobby, absently dragging his slides across the tiles.

"I'll keep Piglet good company," Jooheon promises, tucking the doll into his arm. "You didn't have to give me anything, though. You didn't have to come all the way out here to see me either."

"I wanted to." Minhyuk quickly shakes his head, like how Jooheon knew he would. His lips purse, dark eyes growing serious suddenly when he flicks them over to Jooheon. "I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry." That's all Jooheon can think to let cross his lips, though that's not the apology he really means to say. "This wasn't how I wanted to see you again."

A sad smile licks over Minhyuk's mouth. His eyes blatantly brush over Jooheon again with scrunched brows and a slight shudder of his Adam's apple when he swallows. "Things happen."

The gap between them feels sickeningly palpable. There's an unfamiliar space between their bodies, seemingly more immense and discomforting without the normalcy of Minhyuk attached to his hip, threading their fingers together, leaning in close when he speaks to Jooheon. The way things should be.

His footsteps pause at the sliding doors, and naturally Minhyuk halts with him, questioningly. There's a space left between them again. It seems to be the only thing that Jooheon can focus on then. It digs a deep hole into his heart, makes him feel even more alone and hollow than before.

"Can I hug you?" Jooheon asks without really thinking. His voice shakes, a sting in his eyes that leaves a thick lump in his throat.

It's almost as if Minhyuk was waiting for permission. He scrambles towards Jooheon instantly, dragging Jooheon into his chest and curling around his body. Jooheon's heart finally has a chance to steady and calm. He forgets his muscle ache and that he's been shocked with anxiety for days, lets it all fade away as he melts into the warmth in Minhyuk's body.

"I'm sorry, hyung." His words are buried in the crook of Minhyuk's neck. He shuts his eyes, a fist gripping weakly at the back of the older boy's coat. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't deserve that."

"I know." A hand strokes over Jooheon's hair, careful, fingertips soft over his scalp. "I forgive you, Jooheon-ah."

Some of the weight lifts from his shoulders, though Jooheon can't help the annoying pang at his chest reminding him that he doesn't deserve any of this. "You're too forgiving," he whispers.

"Maybe sometimes." Minhyuk pauses briefly with a soft brush of a chuckle, smooths his fingers over the nape of Jooheon's neck. "But I know that you weren't trying to hurt me."

Jooheon knows it too. At first, he tried to ignore why he would let his feelings fester and explode, but he knows why he distanced himself from his own brother, turned his back to the tears in his only friend's eyes and screamed at Minhyuk. He knew, in the end, he'd be the one left with guilt spreading in his chest, alone, loathing and belittling himself until he's left in fragments. He didn't want to hurt anyone; he wanted to hurt himself.

"I'm not good. I'm a liar," Jooheon lets himself say. It's when he hesitantly pulls away from Minhyuk's embrace, and quickly stops to suck in a breath. "I hide myself from people who get too close to me. I run away when someone shows they care. I don't think I'm good for you. You shouldn't want me. You deserve someone better. Someone who isn't complicated."

He pauses again, avoids Minhyuk's gaze. The distance is no longer there. His hyung still stands parallel from him, their hands now clasped with a thumb brushing over the back of Jooheon's hand.

"You're a liar?" Minhyuk asks.

Jooheon questioningly blinks up at him, gives a slow nod.

"Was it a lie when you told me you used to play the flute?" A ghost of a smile quirks at Minhyuk's lips, thumb still soft over Jooheon's hand. Jooheon's brows wrinkle at the question, but there's no visible explanation on Minhyuk's face.

"No," he finally responds.

"You really have a brother, right?"

"Well, yeah," Jooheon replies after a moment. The glass doors slide open, whipping in a swift gust of air that shoots small shivers down his spine. "You met Hyunwoo hyung. Kind of."

Minhyuk nods. "What about being in your third year of university? Or only eating red Skittles? Or about the teeth drumming?"

A small chuckle bubbles from Jooheon's mouth at the memory. A part of him is humiliated by some of the things he mindlessly told Minhyuk that night, but all of those idiosyncrasies slipped from his lips because he wanted them to. He wanted to be open, feel closer to his hyung in any way he could. 

"I'm surprised you remembered that," Jooheon says, teeth dragging over his smile.

"Of course I remembered," he lowly laughs, and he's suddenly standing too close to Jooheon like he usually does. "I still know things about you, Jooheon-ah."

Their eyes lock. The doors slide open beside them again. Minhyuk wordlessly reaches for the zipper of Jooheon's jacket and zips it up to his chin as the cool air knocks over the both of them again.

"You just have to trust me with the other parts," Minhyuk adds quietly, smiles at him. 

Jooheon thinks that now he's finally ready.

+

"I want to eat normally, you know," he says to the street, fingers sheepishly curling around the railing. Below the roof, the night leaves only stray streetlights and illuminated storefronts that paint shadows on the streets.

It's almost calm up here. The stinging scent of disinfectant still seems to be stained in Jooheon's nostrils, but the feeling of being outside (wind entangling in his hair, frosty air expanding in his lungs) makes him feel like he's a part of the world again.

Minhyuk has his elbows propped up beside him. "Why don't you?"

"I can't," Jooheon sighs, and he knows his words are vague and unreasoned, but he's struggling to find better ones. "Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could. It's too nerve-racking."

His hyung stares at him solicitously, the sky spread out behind him in charcoal. Jooheon can only imagine what he must seem like now. He thinks of the first time he spoke to Minhyuk, and he's sure whatever depiction of himself Minhyuk had in his head before now has horrendously contorted. 

Jooheon's fingers squeeze around the icy burn of the pole. "When I eat, I feel like a bad person."

"But you aren't," Minhyuk tells him, gently.

"I want to believe that." A sad smile wavers on Jooheon's lips. The lump in his throat is thickening. "But I just — it's _hard._ I don't know why."

Minhyuk sits up. His hand slips on his, warms Jooheon ever so slightly. The touch is enough solace for Jooheon's breaths to even, grip loosening and shoulders shrinking little by little. 

"Everything went downhill in high school," Jooheon whispers, and it's strange thinking back on his life before. Eating what he wanted. Not pondering all of the food inside of him for hours. That person feels so faraway now, almost fictitious. "I was just so anxious and stressed all the time. About everything."

"High school was the worst," Minhyuk lowly adds.

Something like a chuckle tickles Jooheon's lips. "The _worst,_ " he repeats, lips curving faintly. "I was starting to grow apart from my close friends, and my parents were doing a bad job at hiding that they started to hate each other. I felt uncomfortable being home with them, so I'd hang around convenience stores and restaurants after classes for as long as I could. Eating was the only thing that drowned out how anxious I felt."

A small breath of air escapes Jooheon's mouth. He glances down at how the pad of Minhyuk's thumb trails over his skin, and slowly exhales another scattering cloud into the air.

"I ignored that I was gaining weight, and I remember continuing like that for a few years," Jooheon continues, lips pursing. "Then, my life sort of blew up in my face in my last year. My dad moved out out of nowhere. I should have seen it coming, I guess, but things like that don't really happen, you know?"

Minhyuk gives a slow nod, absently trailing a finger over the back of Jooheon's hand. "Parents seem to just hate each other and deal with it, right?" he says. "That must have put a lot of stress on you."

"I think I would have been okay if it was just that," Jooheon murmurs, then suddenly, his words catch in his throat. Letting them cross his mouth feels too awkward. Improper, somehow.

Keeping every memory pushed away until it's dusted and muddled feels like an unsaid rule that he's too afraid to break, but here on the roof, distant and serene with Minhyuk by his side, speaking feels safe. _He_ feels safe.

"My dad was hiding an entirely different life," he explains, lowering his voice as if he's scared of someone overhearing, "with another woman. And a kid — that I found out a bit later."

Even without looking, he senses the look of surprise that crosses Minhyuk's face. Nevertheless, his hyung doesn't utter anything, just soft inhales and exhales and a comforting brush on his hand, listening. 

"Everything changed too quickly. My mom was barely home, and Hyunwoo hyung was either at dance school, or the gym. He ended up getting a job offer, and moving out all of a sudden. I felt like everything I'd known was ripped out from under me," Jooheon tells him, slowly. He sucks in a breath then. "The only times I saw my brother was when I'd tag along with him to the gym. I think that's when this started. Or got worse. My thing with food."

Minhyuk hums, quietly. His eyes are sad. 

"I get too competitive sometimes," Jooheon admits. One of Minhyuk's fingers is still trailing over the back of his hand, tracing his knuckles, connecting the veins. "And when I lost weight, so many people praised me. It was like the attention was exactly what I needed at the time. I wanted to do more, become better at losing weight. The best, even."

"Then it became an obsession?" Minhyuk presumes.

Jooheon nods, blinking over at him with a frown. "It's easier, I think," he says, words merely a breath. "Thinking about food and working out is easier than... _that._ I can control this." 

"I kind of understand more," Minhyuk tells him, after a small pause, "but you're hurt now, Jooheon-ah. Are you really in control?"

Jooheon looks down at the city beneath them, a feeling of embarrassment tugging somewhere deep in his stomach. It's there, growing and insufferable, because he knows the truth. He knows that he isn't. He knows that every time he goes on a conquest at night to fill the emptiness inside of him with sugar, and when he hides away to puke into bags and showers, he isn't in control and never was. 

Minhyuk doesn't really wait for a response, as if he didn't anticipate one. His fingers squeeze gently over Jooheon's limp hand. "This isn't easier. I know it's hard to see from this angle, but it isn't. And it won't get any easier."

"I know," Jooheon whispers. "I have to stop, I know, but it's too hard. I'm too scared."

"But you're strong."

"No, I'm not." His face is warm, pressure growing as if any second he'll burst and splatter into nothingness. He can feel his body tensing again, bit by bit. "I'm weak, and I'm scared of everything. I don't have any motivation for life. I barely have any plans. I don't know what's going to happen to me, and at this point, I'm not even sure that I care. I want to be left alone to starve. That's the only thing I care about, and I —"

He's talking too rapidly, and has to stop for a gulp of air, sniffing, blinking and blinking and blinking. Minhyuk's eyes deepen, a hand suddenly extending to softly brush a tear from Jooheon's face.

Jooheon inwardly curses himself for crying. He promised himself he wouldn't cry in front of Minhyuk, but it seems after going so long without shedding tears, crying out pathetically these past few days is the most his body can manage.

"I miss when things were simpler," he lets fall from quivering lips then, along with the tears that freely drip from his face. "I just — I want to be small and naïve again. I want to feel protected again and loved, and it's like I keep trying so hard to squeeze back into this box, but I can't fit in it anymore."

Minhyuk blinks, slow, and Jooheon notices the shine in his eyes too, how his mouth ever so slightly quivers when he starts to speak. "There are always new boxes, Jooheon-ah," he tells him, quietly, leaning in closely like they're exchanging secrets. "You deserve one that'll make room for you."

It seems to be the words Jooheon needs to hear. The reassurance he's been looking for. Maybe a part of him has always known he needs to find somewhere else to fit. No matter how deeply his heart aches, how languid and lifeless he feels, days still pass. The world seemed to move on without him, leaving him behind. In a way, he'd given up on trying to match its pace. 

"When I took your photo at the subway," Minhyuk says, brushing the tips of his fringe from his eyes, "I dropped out of school the next day."

Jooheon gives a quick pause to contemplate this, sniffing. "Before support group?"

"Yeah, before then. Way before I went to that café with you and Hyungwon-ssi." He lowers his head, sheepishly, fingers hooking at the back of his own neck. "I lied to you guys about continuing my classes online because I was embarrassed."

"But you had a lot on your plate," Jooheon tells him, wiping his own face into the sleeve of his jacket, "with your mom, you know? It's a lot to juggle at once."

"I know," Minhyuk nods, faintly clears his throat. "But it wasn't solely because of my mom. I was just disappointed. In myself, mostly."

The wind is soft against their skin. Jooheon sinks into his coat, absently leans closer to Minhyuk. 

"I had really high hopes for college, in the beginning. I thought it was my chance to prove to my parents that photography wasn't a waste of time, and that I'm good at it," Minhyuk explains, slowly, "but I'm bad. Maybe not at photography, but at school. I couldn't keep up for some reason. My instructors weren't impressed with my work at all, and my grades were awful and kept dropping. It was like everyone else was getting the hang of school, and I just couldn't."

Jooheon doesn't say anything, because he's not sure he's supposed to. He purses his lips, closely watching Minhyuk's eyes and how they lower and sadden.

"So, after that project, I dropped out," Minhyuk finishes, sighs softly. He finally flicks his gaze over to Jooheon, and a half-hearted smile twitches at his mouth. "Actually, I have a confession to make. Or show you, rather."

Jooheon's brows lift, curiously. "A confession?"

"It's this," he murmurs, fumbling in his camera bag. There's a few moments that Jooheon stands, rubbing his own hands together for some warmth, as Minhyuk searches through his bag, zipping and unzipping until he retrieves a photo.

"No fucking way," Jooheon laughs quietly, brushing a hand over his face.

The remorseful smile that tugs on Minhyuk's lips, playful and a little dishonest, tells it all. "I'm sorry," he chuckles, and he's not, probably.

Jooheon takes the photo despite himself, and he doesn't need to flip it over to already know. It's the photo of him in the subway, looking down at his phone.

He looks at himself. _Really_ looks at himself. He studies what's visible of his face, scans the body deliberately hidden away during a dying spring, shoulders slouched almost like he's folding into himself. Something tugs in his heart, scratches in his throat.

"I can barely recognize myself," Jooheon realizes, and it's discomforting, because it's like he's looking at an entirely different photo than the one he'd crumbled earlier this year. He's a different person in it. It's scary, almost. He doesn't know his own face, his own body, and he swallows hard around this overwhelming feeling that he'll probably never know. 

"It feels like a long time ago, doesn't it?" Minhyuk says. He glances over Jooheon's shoulder, scrutinizes it with him in a brief, quiet moment.

"It does. I was a healthy weight here," Jooheon remembers. "I was at my worst, though, I think. I was irritable all the time, and I hated myself and the world. Nothing other than my weight really mattered to me then."

"What about now?" asks Minhyuk.

"Well, I'm kind of the same," he laughs, though his eyes catch onto the photo again, and his smile fades, bit by bit. "I was struggling so much, and no one could see. No one would even ask. It's sad."

"Sometimes people notice when you aren't looking," Minhyuk tells him. He flicks his eyes to the photo again, just for a moment, then zips his bag closed. "Keep that, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'll take more photos of you one day." He shoots Jooheon a smile, eyes soft and warm even in the cold. "I'll have a whole gallery just of you."

A chuckle bubbles from Jooheon's throat. He slips the photo into the pocket of his coat. "Isn't that a bit much?"

"Nope," Minhyuk replies, easily, and he seems thoughtful for a moment, unsure, until his arms suddenly slip around Jooheon's body and gently draw him into his chest. 

Jooheon questioningly blinks up at him, cheeks a flushed, burning pink. A grin slides onto his mouth.

"I like you a lot, Jooheon-ah," Minhyuk exhales, quietly, their foreheads almost knocking. "I care, and I see."

And after, it's Jooheon who brings their lips together. He feels assured and trusting suddenly, eagerly melts into the feeling of Minhyuk wrapped around him and finds comfort in that warmth spreading into his own chest, fluttering in his belly. He likes Minhyuk, too, indubitably. Loves him, maybe. A maybe — for now. 

He's the box Jooheon has been looking for, it seems. The one where he fits.

+

Something soft and jazzy is playing over the speakers when Jooheon steps into the small space of pearl walls in early spring.

He trails his eyes over the surrounding tables, all of its mess. Large and small prints of the city are scattered around with the couple of opened cardboard boxes left on the floor. There's suddenly distant chatter in the back room and the growing sound of footsteps. Jooheon perks up with a smile naturally tugging at his lips even before Minhyuk and the shop owners trailing behind him appear from behind the wall.

"You're here!" Minhyuk greets, all sunny and soft features behind the frames of his glasses. His oversized button-down is undone to the white undershirt underneath, tucked sloppily into his jeans. A large photo is held in his hands that nearly knocks into Jooheon's face once his hyung runs up to his side. "I thought you were coming later."

"Shift ended early," Jooheon tells him. He leans in, pecks a kiss to Minhyuk's curved lips. "It seems like things are starting to come together around here."

"Barely," Minhyuk chuckles. He stretches the wide print on one of the tables. Jooheon recognizes it immediately through all the fog and the nearly indiscernible figure in the center, that it's the photo formerly kept on the floor of Minhyuk's room. It's now pale and grayscale, the same as every other print littered around the space so far. "I'm still not sure which set-up I want yet, but I have the rest of the week to figure it out, at least."

Jooheon nods, lips quirking at the deep exhale that falls from Minhyuk's lips as he pensively glances over his new print. "Nervous?" Jooheon wonders.

"Kind of." Minhyuk's eyes fix on Jooheon again. "But excited, for the most part — and stressed. Very stressed."

"I'm sure every artist feels like that on their first exhibition," Jooheon reassures him, and he lifts the handful of take-out bags growing heavy in his hands then. "Here, I brought food."

"For me?" The nervousness dissipates into a wide smile and chirpy voice again. Minhyuk scrambles to take most of the bags in his hands before Jooheon has the chance to utter any other words, curiously peeking in at the containers and cups in the holders. "Jooheon-ah, you know me too well."

Jooheon lets out a laugh. "I do."

Outside, the sun is a soft warmth spilling over them. They find a fountain across the street, and it's sort of habitual at this point how one of Jooheon's legs find its way perched on Minhyuk's thigh once they've plopped down. Jooheon just likes the closeness. It's a need, sometimes.

They pop open containers and rip apart chopsticks. It's nearly quiet around them, surprisingly, even with the few people that stroll along the street. It feels like only the two of them exist, listening to the patter of the fountain and faint sounds of the city.

Minhyuk rolls his sleeves and digs into osam bulgogi with a quick, accompanying mouthful of rice right away. It's the same order in Jooheon's container, and possibly a stupid choice on his part since his fingers give this annoying twitch at just an innocent whiff of chili and soy sauce. He'd like to think he's gotten better at fighting with himself, though his chopsticks still routinely pinch at the pickled vegetables in the box first. Old habits die hard, apparently.

"So," Jooheon speaks, because he's learned distractions are good, "what's the theme of your exhibition?"

"Black and white," Minhyuk promptly replies through chews. "A bit predictable, but it's been my favorite lately. I've been going through the process of changing the colors of some shots and figuring out if it even fits the mood — all that jazz."

Jooheon hums, nodding.

A smile quirks at Minhyuk's lips. The sun licks tangerine on the side of his face. "You have no idea what I'm talking about."

"I'm listening," Jooheon says, playfully defensive, and he can't help the grin that swipes over his face when Minhyuk laughs aloud, head tipped back. 

"It's okay." He nonchalantly fills his mouth again. Even at the fountain, his camera dangles from his neck like it's permanently attached there. "As long as you listen."

Jooheon chuckles, and contemplates his plate again. 

Minhyuk shouldn't stare at him, but his eyes are there, burning in on him nonetheless. It's awkward, admittedly, though Jooheon gets it. He hates that it's like this now. When he sits in front of food, fingers reluctantly brushing utensils, and there's this palpable pause around him as if everyone freezes and holds their breath. Somehow, the worst part is knowing that whatever follows next is left up to only him.

"How is it?" Minhyuk asks, serious suddenly.

At first, it sounds like he's asking about the food, but Jooheon glances down at all of the sides left untouched and knows the real question.

His disorder has stopped becoming a discussion lately. It's a relief, in a way, but sometimes, when he's sad and unreasonable, Jooheon worries Minhyuk stopped asking because now he's ten kilograms heavier with a flush of pink that has reappeared in his skin, and it makes his sickness unnoticeable.

(When he's sensible, he knows it has a lot more to do with the fact he pathetically cried his eyes out when Minhyuk called him healthy a few weeks ago. They're still figuring these things out.)

"I'm fine, I think," Jooheon tells him. It takes some time figuring out whether or not these are the words that should fall from his lips. Maybe questions like these don't hold much weight, but Jooheon is practicing honesty. He's sure, though, even after he speaks, that he actually means it. "I'm managing, like before. My meal plan was increased, though. It's weird. Not terrible, but you know."

Minhyuk nods, gives Jooheon's knee a small squeeze. "You're doing well."

"I guess," he murmurs.

"You are," Minhyuk tells him, and his eyes crinkle fondly. He presses a kiss where Jooheon's bangs fall over his forehead. "You always do well."

Jooheon's lips easily stretch into a smile. He rests his head on Minhyuk's shoulder and takes a bite of bulgogi. 

The longer explanation is this:

Being a real person is hard.

Mostly it just feels like too much food and sadness and accepting, with a lot of hesitance, sometimes taking on all of his feelings alone is impossible.

Jooheon would like to be the person who just finds his way and moves on, but it's been a little different in practice. Four months have passed since he left the hospital, and he still isn't this star success story that no one has quite admitted they'd hoped from him, yet Jooheon knows nevertheless.

Sometimes, he can follow his meal plan with less thinking and more doing, and not feel like there's water filling his lungs. Other times, he loathes what he is now, wants to rip off all the extra flesh from his skin and starve until there's only a pile of bones left. It's a constant back and a forth. A constant day where he has to make a choice and continue to make it for the rest of his life.

By now, he's endured an anxiety-ridden three weeks without eating himself sick or sleeping in late to avoid breakfast, and even if his doctor sees it as some type of improvement, Jooheon can't help this crestfallen, frustrated feeling that wants to tightly grip his own shoulders and shake vehemently, shout, _Just fucking get better already!_

The thing is people _expect_ things from him now. Real life, functional things, like taking care of himself and admitting when he needs help, all of these things Jooheon thinks now that he's lived over two decades he should know, and doesn't. It grates at him still, that he's been left behind by the world, but he's catching up, baby steps and all.

He's lucky enough to have people in his life who will wait for him.

"Oh," Jooheon realizes suddenly, and it instantly catches Minhyuk's attention when he picks his head up from his shoulder. He sets his container aside and reaches into the small bag he'd left by their feet. "I have something else for you."

"A gift?"

"Somewhat," he says, smiling. It's wrapped in yellow paper for the sake of added suspense. 

Minhyuk eagerly takes it, pushing his food out of the way. Instead of ripping the paper right away, he feels around the border with a grin stretched on his face. "You bought me a frame, didn't you?"

"Just open it," Jooheon insists, impatient.

So, Minhyuk does, without any relutance. It only takes a few tears before the yellow paper is left to shreds, and he unveils the framed photograph. His smile grows wider somehow, looking at Jooheon, seated in the subway, in the focal point. "You're giving me the picture back?"

"I think it makes more sense to stay with you," Jooheon explains, reciprocating his smile. "This time, with my permission."

"Thank you. Really." Minhyuk holds it in both hands, looking down at the photo, now held in a small, white frame, with his smile growing soft. "I would've never thought someone gifting me a photo of themselves would make me so happy."

He laughs. "I guess I just know you too well then."

Minhyuk's eyes are fond when he flicks them back up to Jooheon, and then the younger boy ends up in his side. He's hugged with two arms, like always, held close and warmly and breathes in the scent of faintly woody cologne. 

"How about," Minhyuk says, and he keeps an arm wrapped over Jooheon's shoulders when they pull away from each other, "I take another picture for you to keep?"

Jooheon curiously blinks over at him. "Now?"

Minhyuk hums.

"Okay," he decides, and the response even surprises himself. He feels strangely self-assured, though, trusting. It's an odd feeling as he watches Minhyuk pull the new professional camera from his bag.

Jooheon's courage only slightly wavers when it sinks in that he doesn't really know what he looks like, or whether his striped short-sleeved shirt ( _horizontial_ stripes, the worst choice he could've went for,) and baggy jeans would make him appear larger or not. He's terrified even more at the thought of seeing someone who's bigger in Minhyuk's photos, and it could be the man people actually see in real life.

He pushes the thought away. Sometimes his brain is mean without reason. If it can't give him anything helpful, he can choose not to listen to it.

"How should I pose?" asks Jooheon. 

"You don't need to pose," Minhyuk chuckles. He stands, and admittedly, panic floods through Jooheon's body when Minhyuk points the camera lens at him. "Just be yourself."

"Like, smile, or?"

"If you want."

"Not helpful, hyung," Jooheon groans, absently pushing a hand through his hair, and he feels a little at ease with the lively brush of Minhyuk's laugh. 

"Okay, then, just," he stops, takes a few heartbeats to contemplate, "think of something nice. Something that makes you happy."

And actually, that isn't hard. It's kind of sad how surprised he is by that.

A lot has changed since last year. Himself, mostly. And even through all of the crying and anxiety attacks and wanting—aching, really—to give up on finding happiness, there are still all of the good things in between.

There are afternoon endeavors with Minhyuk's hand in his and boba in the other. Greasy pizza and french fries and fried cheese balls with Hyunwoo at two AM. Pink finger beds. Folding dumplings as he shrills with laughter with his mom gossiping about her co-workers. Sleeping in late with his work-out clothes faded and forgotten in the back of his closet. Jumping and wildly dancing for hours at noraebang with Minhyuk. Coming across a photo Hyungwon uploads to Instagram every once a while with his hair now long and his eyes vibrant and alive, and understanding and accepting his hyung's silence even if it pangs Jooheon's heart a little. This very moment, too, with warmth Jooheon can wholly feel in his body. His heart behind his chest that's competent and steady and keeping him alive. 

Things can be nice.

"Ready?" Minhyuk asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Jooheon hums.

The sun almost shines in his eyes, painting the world around him all saturated blues and coruscating marigolds. He looks at the camera, then easily finds himself looking at his hyung behind it. Minhyuk's lips are absently puckered, careful and meticulous with the daylight kissing his skin gold, and he's still as strikingly beautiful as the first time Jooheon ever laid eyes on him.

Minhyuk is what brings a smile curving upwards on Jooheon's lips. His dimples deepen, eyes crinkling happily and fond, and the camera clicks.


End file.
